Child of the Emperor
by Imraphel
Summary: Do the traitor legions hold any regrets? This is the prologue to a much larger tale, which is Mrated. If enough people like it, I'll start putting the additional chapters online. Be warned; the full version is a long story currently at 134k wordcount with another 60k to write. Still, I'd appreciate any comments.
1. Prologue

Prologue

Sedreth felt the unfamiliar touch of fear as his bolter clicked empty. Snarling behind his helmet he flung it into the mass, smashing a screaming face with the impact. In the same movement he whipped out his combat blade and slashed a girl-child almost in half; she dropped without a sound. But there were more; hundreds more. Hands dragged him down by sheer weight of numbers, his armour systems red-lighting under the strain of dozens of fanatical civilians. No! By all the Gods it would not end like this. He flung himself upwards, throwing bodies from him and bellowing in rage.

"For the Emperor!" The ancient war-cry, cynical mockery of a long-discarded allegiance, burst from his lips as he landed, a dervish of destruction and fury, amidst the endless mob. There was no time to consider, no thought, just instincts honed by thousands of years of endless warfare.

He staggered as Astryaliliath's claw, ripped clean from its arm, hit him in the head, denting his helmet. A whoosh of flame from behind him crisped half a hundred and the pressure eased. He snatched a fresh bolter from the ground, flinging the severed arm that held it into the press, and brought it up.

Now.

He held the trigger down, uncaring of ammunition counters, needing only to give himself sufficient space.

A figure stepped up beside him, likewise armoured in black and pastels, the great gold-embossed flamer in his hands spouting promethium. Cadris, his squad's heavy weapons expert. Centuries of combat experience reasserted itself and he reverted to burst fire. They combined their fire-power as only veterans of millennia could do – nothing got through.

Finally it ended. Sedreth looked round. They were the only beings left standing in a field of blood and charred gore. He glanced down at the gold- and pink-chased bolter in his hand; Sestin's. Stupid bastard. He dropped his recently deceased captain's bolter contemptuously and retrieved his own, scavenging ammunition from the other dead.

"I'm almost out," said Cadris from his left. "You think that was all of them?"

"If it wasn't we're already dead," replied Sedreth cynically. "That fucker Sestin led us right into it. Knew we shouldn't have taken him on as captain."

"He had the favour of the warp. Allegedly."

"Allegedly is right. You better get a secondary weapon."

Cadris picked up a bolter from the ground, stepping past, in an unconscious gesture that spoke eloquently of contempt equalling Sedreth's own, the fancifully worked example that had belonged to their late and unlamented commander. He racked his new weapon and checked the ammunition then turned back.

"I suppose someone had better contact Ahriman. You're senior."

"Thanks for reminding me." Sedreth grimaced and tongued the vox.

Ahriman the Sorcerer, formerly Chief Librarian of the XV Legion Astartes, and currently the most wanted being, give or take half a dozen or so, in the galaxy, was not a happy man.

His voice was cold as he replied to the report. "No. Touch nothing. I shall join you shortly."

He clicked off without waiting for acknowledgement. Thirty space marines. Not to mention two daemonettes. Bloody useless Emperor's Children. Effete bastards still couldn't fight even after ten millennia. He summoned his bodyguard of Thousand Sons.

Sedreth looked at his companion; his oldest companion. His last companion. "He's coming down in person."

"Oh, Joy And Rapture. That makes me feel so much better." Cadris looked across the corpse-strewn flagstones towards the ancient, alien-looking, temple building.

There was a flare of light and the pale blue- and gold-armoured figure of the the ancient sorcerer appeared, surrounded by four full squads of soulless Thousand Sons marines. Sedreth didn't bother to salute.

"Well?"

"Ambush, Lord Ahriman. One second, nothing on the scopes, the next, thousands of them. Like they came out of nowhere."

The man's gaze met his meaningfully, and he slowly removed his own gore-smeared helmet. Ahriman was still recognisably human, like most Thousand Sons sorcerers. Like Sedreth himself if it came to that. Unlike the majority of the surviving warriors who had served since the Rebellion neither sported the commonplace mutations that indicated service or favour to one of the chaos powers. Sedreth had never dared to wonder why he was one of the few who had been spared – or denied. Wondering and questioning got you killed; he had learnt that lesson long long ago.

"Civilians?"

"Civilians who could tear apart a daemonette bare-handed, Lord Ahriman," he replied, indicating the dissolving but still recognisable corpse of Astryaliliath. One of its claws had been driven into the daemon's chest hard enough to come out the back. The sorcerer stood in silence for a few moments. Sedreth said nothing; if Ahriman didn't realise that any other troops would have died to a man he was stupider than a World Eater, and no-one had ever accused Ahzek Ahriman of being stupid. He wondered for a moment if he was the last person to remember Ahriman's name.

Finally the man spoke, thoughtfully and almost to himself. "Hmm. Possessed then. Interesting. I felt nothing in the Great Ocean."

Sedreth met the sorcerer's considering gaze. "Lord Ahriman, if we are to enter the temple, I think we will need more marines. Lots more marines."

"No, sergeant Sedreth, I think not. You and your compatriot have demonstrated suitable martial prowess. You two will enter, scout, and report to me."

Their eyes met; Sedreth nodded. "As you command, Lord." He pulled on his helmet again and turned, signalling Cadris by hand. They loped across the square, two bloody black and pastel avatars of barbarism, decadence, and death.

Sedreth tongued the squad channel. "You take left. Standard protocols; you remember?"

"Imperial protocols? That would please Eidolon no end."

"Do you see that arrogant prick here? Let's do this. Unless you fancy taking on Ahriman and his Thousand Sons?"

"Nah. Not yet anyway. When did you last scout?"

"You know when; you were in the same squad."

"Damn. I hoped you'd done some a bit more recently than that."

Sedreth's laugh was cynical, but genuine. Cadris never failed to lift his mood. "For the Emperor, brother."

The reply held a bitter, scornful, pride. "For the Emperor."

They entered the great dark cleft that had once held doors of beaten metal.

Inside, the stone floor was smooth, as unblemished as if the place was newly built. As they moved cautiously forward a soft light started to glow, blueish-green and peaceful, almost in rejection of the martial attributes of the two warriors. They advanced slowly, one on each side of the smooth unmarked corridor, their armour clashing with the serene atmosphere.

A voice spoke from ahead of them.

"Well, mon-keigh? Are you just going to stand there?"

Sedreth's bolter was already aimed, but he didn't pull the trigger, curiosity and caution combining to stay his finger. Across from him he saw Cadris' flamer muzzle lift to the precise angle that would maximise the spread of promethium, but he too stayed his hand.

He tongued the vox, not really expecting to be able to contact anyone. "Lord Ahriman. An eldar farseer. She appears to be awaiting us."

The reply came through clearly, surprising him. "A farseer? Find out what she wants."

Sedreth double-clicked off in acknowledgement and moved forward.

The tall alien in green and white stood at apparent ease, her slender human-like form giving an impression of fragility. Sedreth wasn't fooled. He'd met her ilk before. If she was hostile, neither he nor Cadris would survive this day. The powers of a farseer were beyond any two ordinary astartes, even Emperor's Children veterans.

"What do you want, eldar?"

A soft alien laugh came back. "You, Morgan Sedreth. And your companion. Ethaniel Cadris. The temple greets you both."

As she said it the blue-green light intensified. Sedreth's comms monitor flicked red, indicating a communications barrier.

Cadris snarled. "Your powers will not affect us, witch. We are under our Lord's protection."

Another soft chuckle. "The being you know as Slaanesh has no power here, Ethaniel Cadris. Nor does any other, even humanity's Emperor. This is a place of test. There is only you and your own talents to rely on."

Sedreth shrugged inside his armour. "Is that supposed to impress us, or scare us?"

"It is merely a fact, Morgan Sedreth. You are the last of the Astartes Legions to come to this place. Are you willing?"

Sedreth chuckled in his turn. "Willing to do what?"

"To face the trials."

"Let me guess," said Cadris. "Everyone else tried and failed."

Sedreth replied more cynically, "No, Cadris. They tried and died, I expect."

The eldar nodded. "You are intelligent. Good. You will need to be." She waved her hand languidly, gracefully. The blue-green glow grew to unbearable intensities and enveloped them.

Sedreth looked around at jungle. A movement to his left and he blinked. A massive marine in purple and gold power armour stood beside him, the aquila, the two-headed eagle of the Emperor, proud on his chest. He instinctively raised his bolter.

"Sedreth?" said the warrior in a familiar voice.

"Cadris? What are you doing in that armour?"

"I could ask you the same."

He glanced down at himself; he too wore the codex colours that the Legion had abandoned ten thousand years before. "What?" he began, then was shoved aside by his brother's powerful left arm as Cadris' flamer roared to life. A monstrous chittering echoed in his ears as he rolled to his feet in time to see more of the things scurrying towards them, each multi-legged form higher than a man. He flung a grenade and stepped back to back with the flamer marine, controlled bursts ripping apart chitinous bodies as the monstrosities charged across the clearing.

"There's too many!" shouted Cadris above the roar of battle. "We can't hold them."

"Megarachnid. They're megarachnid, Cadris." He blew a multi-eyed head apart with a four shot burst.

"Tell me something I didn't know. I thought we'd killed all the bastard things."

"We did. They must be from our memories."

"Did you remember being killed? Shit." The flamer cut out, empty, and was replaced by the stuttering fire of Cadris' bolter.

Remember? Maybe, if this came from their memories... it couldn't exactly make things worse. "I'm going to try something; don't shoot him."

"Shoot who?"

He felt the response to his concentration like a wave of power and knew.

"Him."

A gold-armoured figure dropped like a stone into the midst of the combat, dappled white and black angel's wings roped with pearls briefly extending to halt its plummet. He heard Cadris gasp in recognition as the Blood Angel landed amidst the megarachnid of Murder just as he had done a hundred centuries before. Then the gasp became a grunt of pain as his brother was borne past his shoulder to the thick jungle grass, a nightmare of insectoid predation atop his purple-armoured form. Sedreth loosed a burst into the thing's head, then met another as he too was grappled by the beasts. He held his trigger down one-handed while he stabbed and slashed with his combat knife, desperation lending him strength and speed beyond even the usual astartes superhumanity. He kicked the dying thing away and leapt to his feet, but the creatures were done, shattered corpses all that remained.

The Primarch Sanguinius chuckled. He hauled Cadris upright as easily as a marine would pick up a child.

"A good fight. You do my brother's Legion honour with your prowess," he said, the same words he had used so long ago. Before. Then his countenance changed, the angelic, sculpted, features wearing a frown. "I know what became of him. And of you. Be aware, astartes. You are not blind pawns yet." The frown vanished and he faded from sight along with the jungle and its ferocious denizens. A brilliant blue light enveloped them.

They looked at each other, both back in the black and multi-hued pastels that they'd worn since.

"Is that it?"

"I doubt it."

The light faded and the farseer stood facing them again. "Impressive, Morgan Sedreth. You have agile minds, for astartes. The majority of your kind fail that trial."

Cadris chuckled cynically. "We're the Emperor's Children; the best of the best. If you wanted someone to pass your trials, you should have come to us first."

"I would not have come to you at all, Ethaniel Cadris. We have far too much in common." She waved her hand again and the light blinded.

Sedreth stood alone on a gantry. He looked down at himself. Hmm. His own armour, still scored and blood smeared. This might not be a memory then. He looked round slowly. A familiar symbol shone silver and stark over a dark entrance at the end of the metal bridge, a stylised helmet over the eight-pointed arrow of chaos. Iron Warriors. He cursed quietly. Not a good thing to see for one of the Children. There was movement in the shadowed doorway. He raised his bolter, cocked it.

A figure came into view. A marine in dark green armour with a stylised dragon-head shoulder symbol. Salamander. The other did not fire, despite raising his flamer.

"At this range, we both die, traitor."

Sedreth chuckled. "True. But since when has that bothered you, servant of a failing corpse?"

The other's voice was cold. "Better to kill more than one enemy, if you can. The sons of accursed Perturabo are enemies to both of us."

"Vulkan would kill you for saying that, marine." He was about to continue when the sound of heavy armoured boots echoed from behind the man. A deep chant started as the boots grew closer, 'Iron within, Iron without'. He swore aloud.

The Salamander moved towards him. "Do we kill each other and save them the trouble, then?"

"Well, since you put it like that," he replied, squeezing the trigger and burying a burst in the chest of a gun-metal-black armoured warrior as the man came into view. "For the Emperor!"

The reply was instantaneous. "For the Emperor!" The flamer roared defiance and Iron Warriors fell burning, but more still came. The Salamander retreated before them, smashed backwards by bolt impacts but still laying down an horrific field of almost impenetrable flame. Sedreth snarled, picking his targets, each burst dropping a warrior. There were too many. He threw a grenade into the midst of them as half a dozen of the deadly eggs flew towards him. He flung himself backwards, landing catlike on his feet despite the explosion tearing a hole in the metal beneath them. The Salamander flung his now guttering flamer two-handed; it burst with a resounding flare and warriors collapsed burning and dying even as bolter fire and more grenades came back and the Imperial fell, one arm torn off. Instinct took over and Sedreth leapt to drag the man backwards.

"Come on, boy. I haven't lost a man to these pitiful fucks in ten thousand years and I am damned if I'm going to start now."

The marine didn't reply, his bolt pistol doing all the talking for him. Sedreth fired one-handed, dragging the heavy dead weight along scarred metal flooring as Iron Warriors charged into their fire. Fuck. He let go of the Salamander and emptied his bolter into a massive, warped figure that might once have been human; it fell only to be replaced by a massive astartes with a power axe. He whipped out his blade and closed, slipping the heavy blow and driving his knife past the other's gorget and under his chin even as the man recovered his balance. A chainsword smashed into his shoulder and he turned in time to see the wielder's head explode from a bolter round. He looked back. They were clear.

He turned to the Salamander, fully expecting to receive a shot from the bolt pistol, but the man's arm was dropping. He walked over to the dying marine.

"Good fight, Salamander. You want me to make it clean?"

The warrior looked up at him weakly, tried and failed to lift his pistol one more time. "You're one of them. Why not make me suffer?"

"Respect. '_He who sheds his blood beside me shall be my brother_'. Shakespeare."

"Who?" Light reflected off the man's visor, grew and enveloped him.

He looked round, and the familiar surroundings of the temple chamber met his gaze. He looked for Cadris. There. On the ground, bleeding from a... severed arm. Shit.

He ran across the floor and knelt beside his brother.

The deep voice was soft. "Hey, Sedreth. I think they finally got me."

"You're not dead yet." He pulled off his helmet and reached for the man's bleeding shoulder.

"Leave it. It's over. Help me take this helmet off."

"What happened?" He knew, but he had to know.

"World Eater got me. Would you believe I fought alongside a Raven Guard?"

He nodded, lifting the gore-spattered helmet clear. "I would. I fought alongside a Salamander, against Iron Warriors."

"Salamander? Always liked them. The Raven Guard was you, wasn't it?"

"Yes. And the Salamander was you, my brother. It was you and me." He looked into the brown eyes, still human above a purple-fanged muzzle. "Always you and me."

The muzzle shook weakly, as if its owner had no strength to shake his whole head. "Just you now. The 79th is just you."

"Don't you die on me, Ethaniel. Not after all this time."

The eyes smiled, moved past his shoulder. "I would have liked to see the rest of your trials, eldar."

"You fought well, Ethaniel Cadris." Her voice was musical, still and sad.

"Sedreth. Morgan. End it."

"You're not dead yet, Cadris."

" You still look like you did when you joined the Legion. Slaanesh doesn't love you enough."

"Our God doesn't love, brother. Only we.."

A chuckle, becoming a blood-spattered cough. "Love. I know, brother. Love,.. was what got us into this,.. in the first place. Pass the test, my brother. For honour. For,... what we were." The fanged mouth smiled weakly, then became a snarl. "Damn you, Slaanesh. I... hope you ...choke on me..., you fu.." Light faded from the eyes and the facial muscles went slack.

"Noooo!" Sedreth screamed in rage and pain. "Cadris! Open your fucking eyes, Cadris."

A slender alien hand gripped his shoulder and he flung it off, surging to his feet bolter in hand. "It wasn't fucking real. Bring him back. It was all in our minds, damn you."

"I cannot." The tone held compassion, limitless and eternal, but he didn't care. He squeezed the trigger; nothing happened. Flinging the useless weapon aside he launched himself; she caught him, an invisible psychic force tight against his best efforts, far stronger than he. "He is at peace, Morgan Sedreth."

He struggled uselessly against that inhuman power.

"Listen to me, Morgan Sedreth. Your friend Ethaniel died at rest, with the one being in the universe he still cared about as his side. Slaanesh does not have him. He is free of all such powers. Think on him. Think on your brother."

He writhed as the memories flooded through him. Two young boys sharing a desk in a schoolroom; young men laughing at a restaurant table with two beautiful girls. Lasfire cracking overhead as they advanced into battle in dark blue uniforms. A winged figure throwing down a broken daemon from before a massive gate. An impossibly handsome white-haired warrior with golden eyes. Armoured marines sat laughing at a long table. Purple- and gold-armoured figures charging into battle. A twisted altar. A writhing man screaming in horror as he melted into a thing beyond description. Fear. Pain. Blood. Image after image. Ecstasy and agony. Naked bodies writhing in orgiastic hedonism. A laughing handsome man with a sword in his hand; the same man, scar-faced and feral and fanged. Rage. The gleaming corridors of a great ship. A sword swinging down and an explosion of energy from a decapitated body. Horror. Golden eyes blurred with tears, terrified as they turned black. Evil looking out of the beloved face. A tall warrior in captain's insignia with a brass plate inset in his forehead. Charging armoured figures in red and brass. Others, twisted and diseased in foul green. Still others in black and gold. In midnight blue and lightning. In blood red, in bright blue, in dreadful scarlet. A writhing howling body whipped bloody above a golden chalice. Faster and faster the images came, until he was screaming with a pain so old, so vast, he had forgotten what it felt like.

He was clasped against something hard. Tears ran down his face. Green armour. A slender hand stroked his hair. He raised his head, slowly, met eyes of alien shape and gentle expression.

"Your path is yours to choose, Morgan Sedreth. Do you remain what you were, a warrior of chaos? Do you go to the Imperium of Man? Yours to make, yours the consequences to bear."

He looked at her. Stood, slowly. He shook his head. "Neither is a valid choice. Both bring only ruin in their wake. The Imperium is not anything I fought for in the Crusade; the powers of the warp corrupt and vile."

Her face moved in what might have been a smile. "Then you have chosen correctly. Be well, Morgan Sedreth. We shall not meet again."

He looked down at himself as the blinding light seemed to sink into his very essence. His armour gleamed purple and gold. He looked at the body of his last friend, smiled briefly at the handsome, entirely human, face and the codex colours. So be it.

"Once more, my brother. For the 79th." He cocked his bolter and walked towards the exit.

Ahriman of the Thousand Sons never spoke of the battle in the square. But agents of the Imperium heard from spies and captured enemies of a warrior that was hunted by all the traitor legions. Their informants would speak only the name, whispered it as a word of terror and power. Sedreth.


	2. Chapter One

Chapter One

"Janey, inside and wash your hands. Dinner time."

The black-haired girl looked round from her game. "Coming, mummy. Mikey's just got to finish his chores." She walked a small wooden doll round the back of the large wooden doll's house, shuffling on her knees along the blue-green lawn.

Sara Smitsen looked out at her six-year-old daughter and smiled. It was so typical of Janey that she'd have her dolls do chores. She chuckled to herself. Definitely her father's daughter.

She wondered how Kanret was. A moment of melancholy as she missed her husband, called up on militia duty for the mandatory month. Still, she brightened, only a week to go.

"Hurry up, darling. Or there'll be no moklat pudding."

"Moklat pudding!" Janey's reply was almost a squeal as she jumped up, doll in hand, and ran into the kitchen.

The house was well made, two stories of stout timbers over a plascrete foundation. Like most of the settler families in the area, the Smitsens had built their house by hand with the assistance of neighbours. Sara was quite proud of that, just as she was of the little farm that grew sufficient grain and fruit to pay off the bank, and that would, in time, also produce high quality timber to be sold as a luxury item on faraway planets. That would mean that Janey would have a good inheritance to pass on to her own children. She grinned as the little girl held up two tiny hands for inspection.

"Hmm. That seems fine. Up to the table then."

Janey bounced up into her chair at the small table. The polished furniture was a present from Kanret's parents; the white tablecloth made and embroidered by Sara herself with a few stitches by both her husband and her daughter, for luck.

Sara took her own seat, pouring water into her glass and Janey's. "You say Grace, darling."

"Yes, mummy."

They bowed their heads.

"Emperor's Grace protects our people; His hand provides our bounty. By His will we eat today; to Him we give our thanks and ask His blessing. Amen."

"Amen," said Sara.

"Amen," came a deep voice from the door. "Or rather, fuck that corpse bastard."

They looked round. A huge armoured figure stood in the doorway, dark blue with silver lightnings down legs and arms. Its head was covered by a fearsome-looking bat-winged helm, which it slowly removed as they stared in shock.

The face revealed was handsome, and cruel, with dark eyes and black hair. The man – for despite being almost three metres tall it was undeniably human – looked at them both with casual amusement, a large and deadly-looking pistol pointed easily in their direction.

"I would say 'Good evening', but since it will be anything but – for you – I won't."

Sara stood slowly. She barely came up to his waist. "Who are you?"

"Well, I could say something trite and unimaginative like 'I am death', but since I'll be the last person you ever see, I shall merely inform you that I,"

"That you talk too much," came a voice from outside.

The armoured giant flung himself sideways as a burst of heavy gunfire sliced the air where he'd been standing and smashed a line of holes in the kitchen wall. Sara pulled Janey down and under her as the fire-fight erupted just outside, covering the girl's ears to block out the horrific sounds of combat.

The thunder lasted only a few seconds and a shadow loomed. They looked up together, hearts pounding. Another armoured giant, this one armoured in purple and gold, bearing a huge white feather attached to the shoulder of his armour by a massive red ruby. The feather seemed to almost glow in the reflected sunlight.

"You are unharmed?"

"Yes," said Sara. She noticed with relief that this armoured man wore the imperial aquila, bright gold on his chest-plate. "Who, what, was that?"

He pulled off his helmet, the same imperial purple as his armour, revealing an inhumanly handsome face with a grim expression under short-cropped white-blond hair. "Night Lord."

Janey spoke. "What's a Night Lord?"

"A very bad man, little one. A warrior of evil."

Sara gasped. "A traitor marine?"

Janey looked at her mother. "Mummy. Don't be silly. Marines aren't traitors." She hesitated, then looked stricken. "Did we do something wrong? Is that why he came?"

The big man knelt down to meet her eyes. "What is your name, little one?"

"I'm Janey. I'm six. What's yours?"

"You may call me Morgan. Janey, your mother is correct. That man stopped being a marine and following the Emperor a long time ago, Janey," he said gently. "Not everyone has the courage to reject the temptations of power."

Janey looked worried. "But he was a _space marine_. Why did he want to kill us?"

The man sighed slightly. "There is no time to explain this, little one."

"You saved our lives, ser. Thank you," said Sara quietly, forestalling Janey's next question.

The big man shrugged. "He will not have been alone, sera. Have you some means of transport? You cannot stay here; there will be others along shortly."

Sara nodded. "My husband is on duty with the local militia regiment and he took the ground car. I only have the farm cart here. But there's a storm cellar; we could hide there."

"They would find you. Can you contact neighbours? Someone who can get here quickly?"

She nodded.

"Then do that. And hurry. You do not have long."

"Janey, upstairs and pack your overnight case. Make sure you have two changes of clothes. Go on, now."

Janey hesitated, then nodded and ran for the stairs. At the bottom she stopped and looked at him. "Bye, Mr Morgan. Emperor's grace." Her light footsteps sounded on the wooden staircase.

"If you have a weapon, ready it, and be prepared to use it. I was tracking his squad; I must find them, if I can, rather than have them return here."

Sara looked up at him. "Thank you again. Emperor's light on you, ser."

"And on you." The big man turned and left at the run, skipping across the lawn without even leaving footprints. Sara walked outside to where the armoured corpse lay, its blood, flowing red from the huge holes in the chest-plate, staining the grass purple, and shuddered. She ran for the comm-unit

Sedreth moved easily, immune to the tangled thorns, through the thick scrub, his helmet's autosenses on full and his bolter ready. He mentally reviewed everything he knew of the Night Lords. Legio Astartes VIII. Tricky bastards, tough, and ruthless even beyond the usual traitor Legion. Entirely dedicated to what they called the Long War against the Imperium. A preference for getting up close and personal on other marines, and whenever possible on other opponents as well. But also expert at drawing opponents into traps. Feather-touch and feint; give the enemy just enough information to kill himself. Not to mention a certain sadism, indulged whenever the mission allowed, or simply to scare opponents. Instilling terror was something the Eighth had always been very good at. He expertly slipped past a nasty little infra-red detector for an anti-personnel trap, noting that it was designed to eliminate normal troops rather than power-armoured space marines. Good; hopefully they had not yet realised he was after them.

He moved cautiously now, watching for ambush, for any sign. Nothing. The noise of the local wildlife was undisturbed. They had not been this way; even the most ferocious predator went still and silent when astartes passed. He started to retrace his path, searching for the divergence.

He was nearly at the trap when he found it, close under a broken bush; an armoured boot-print Bastards had been moving in the opposite direction. They must have teleported in here. Which would take them towards that farm. The one he'd killed must have been detached to provide an object lesson in terror for anyone finding the inhabitants. Damnation. He started to move faster. There was a sudden scream from up ahead and he broke into a run.

The screaming came from a man, in torn and bloody civilian clothing. He screamed anew as one of the bastards flung him easily into the air with a flick of his chainsword, only for a second laughing Night Lord to skilfully catch him again on his own whirring blade. As Sedreth burst from the scrub a third whipped out his bolt pistol with a cry of warning, squeezing off shots that pinged off his armour. His answering bolter burst ripped the man's chest open.

"For the Emperor!" he bellowed, as the captive was casually eviscerated with a wrist flick and the other two leapt to meet him. A fourth and fifth leapt from the kitchen door, bolters shuddering on full auto. He felt a rib break under the impacts, and red lights appeared on his armour displays. The two with chainswords closed fast; he managed a burst into the helmetless one's head, bursting it like bloody fruit, then the other was on him. He turned a shoulder-plate into the strike, using his own body as a weapon to drive the man backwards into his fellows' fire, and pulled the corpse down beside him for cover as he reloaded. The last two fired jump-packs, bouncing over and behind him to clear their field of fire. He leapt to his feet and met them as they landed, combat blade against hastily drawn chainswords. Damn, they were good, their longer weapons giving them an unpleasant edge.

"For the Phoenix Lord and Terra!"

The ancient battle-cry, unheard these ten thousand years, seemed to distract them and he flung himself sideways, scooping up a fallen chainsword and grinning under his helmet. They moved more cautiously, presumably realising for the first time just who and what they were fighting. Blades met, engaged and disengaged as he parried and stabbed with both weapons at once.

"So," said one through his armour speakers. "You are Sedreth. A worthy opponent. We shall enjoy your pain, traitor."

He laughed aloud. "You think so. You talk better than you fight, Night Lord. But then, the Eighth always were a bunch of pussies." He spun into an attack he'd learned long ages before, the blades trapping and turning the man's weapon before his combat knife drove through the helmet lenses, dropping him like a stone. The other was fractionally quicker than he'd thought though, and he staggered and fell as the muscles of his left abdomen were ripped open.

"Good, marine, but not good enough," laughed the Night Lord, raising his chainsword again. It was all Sedreth could do to parry the blow and he rolled desperately to avoid the follow-up, losing his knife.

"And so it ends." The warrior laughed again, cruelly, as he knocked aside a parry and reversed his blade for the killing stroke.

Zaapp! The glow of laser light slammed into the marine's back and he bellowed in fury, spinning. Stupid. Sedreth's chainsword almost severed the man's leg as he struck with desperate strength. The warrior fell, rolling towards Sedreth and raising his whirring blade to take his enemy with him; his helmet glowed briefly, bright orange outlining the bat-wings before it melted into a slag of ceramite and gore.

Sedreth pulled himself painfully to his feet. The woman lay slumped and bleeding on the wooden veranda, las-rifle fallen from nerveless fingers. He limped over. Bleeding, but alive. A metal spike protruded, dripping crimson, where it had been driven through her hand, and her back was striped with bloody whip marks. He knelt painfully and pulled out the medpack from his utility belt.

"Janey. Upstairs." Her voice was barely a breath.

He nodded, then realised that she couldn't see the gesture and said, "I shall check momentarily. Lie still." He pulled out the spike, and applied field dressings quickly and expertly, though it had been long ages since he'd acted the apothecary. He checked the wounds; satisfactory; and stood, walking slowly into the building.

The previously immaculate kitchen was shattered, the white tablecloth blood-stained over smashed splinters. A dark-haired man lay bloody and dead, the terrible wounds obviously chainsword-inflicted. He stepped dispassionately over the corpse and moved into the living room; furniture lay broken all about, and a third civilian body, the head and chest torn apart by bolter fire, was slumped against a wall. He moved to the stairwell.

A tiny dark-haired missile flung itself into his chest.

"I knew you'd come."

He smiled behind his helmet, holding her easily one-handed. "I would not leave you defenceless, Janey. Have you packed?"

She nodded against his armoured chest. "Yes, Mr Morgan."

"Then collect what you need. Has your mother also prepared?"

"She packed a bag."

"Good." He carried her up the stairs, ducking under the ceilings as she directed him into a large airy room with a double bed.

"That's mummy's bag," she said, pointing to a neat brown carry-sack on the floor. He picked it up, letting her down to grab her own smaller rucksack from the floor at the top of the stairs. A worn stuffed animal stuck out of the top of it, yellow fur patchy and even missing in places.

"Are we going away now?"

"Yes." He picked her up again, and started down the stairs. "Janey, close your eyes." He pulled her head against his chest-plate so that she would not see the blood and destruction, and carried her out to the veranda and her mother.

"Mummy!" She struggled in his arms and he let her down to kneel beside her parent.

"She is injured, Janey, but she will be alright. The wounds are more painful than serious."

The woman opened one eye and spoke slowly. "That's not very comforting, ser."

He chuckled. He found himself liking this woman. She was tough. "Sera, you cannot stay here. I am going to send you somewhere safe."

"Send us?"

He pulled out a booster bracelet. "This is a teleport booster. Normally it is used when the armour signal is insufficient, but it can be used to transport both of you to my ship, in orbit. I warn you, the transfer, though harmless, can be quite painful for non-astartes. But you will both be safe there, until my mission is complete. Please touch nothing on board. I shall finish as quickly as I may and return for you."

"You're going to teleport us to a space marine vessel?" Even through the pain he recognised her surprise.

"I cannot stay here to protect you."

She nodded, brown eyes still wide. He knelt and buckled the bracelet round her wrist and her daughter's.

"Janey, I need you to be brave. This will hurt, a little, but it will keep you and your mother safe. Stay with her. Do you understand?"

The small head nodded, looking scared. He touched the control stud and they vanished in a flare of light. He checked the readings; successful transfer. So. He pulled his diagnostic from his belt and ran it over his throbbing side. Sufficient for what he had to do. He looked round at the corpses and the doll's house lying untouched and perfect in the middle of the bloodstained lawn, then shook himself and broke into a run.

Kanret Smitsen sighed and rubbed his eyes. He'd been on watch now for six hours and the darkness made it hard to see. He lifted his binoculars again and swept them carefully over the quadrant he'd been assigned to watch. A blur appeared in his vision, too close for focus, and he dropped them to his chest, bringing his rifle up and ready.

"Too slow, private. Had I been an enemy, you would already be dead." The black-coated figure of Commissar Aders glowered down at him.

Kanret snapped to attention and saluted. "Yes, Commissar. I shall do better."

"The Emperor requires it. How long have you been on watch?"

"Six hours, sir."

The man looked angry. "You should have been relieved after four, and not left on duty alone. Who is your company commander?"

Kanret started to speak, then saw swift movement behind the man, a gleam of metal and an horrific horned helmet. He squeezed the trigger of his rifle even as a roaring blade erupted through the commissar's back, spattering him with viscera.

"Alert, alert, enemy in quadrant six bravo. Repeat quadrant six bravo." The weapon, a chainsword, smashed his rifle into two pieces and he screamed in pain and fell. He never even felt the armoured boot that drove the remains of his chest into the hard-packed earth. Janey.

Ateth Al-kaesil, Captain of the few remaining warriors that had once been the Night Lords' sixty-third company, chuckled as he watched the chaos in the guard encampment. His warriors had taken them almost completely by surprise and men were tumbling from tents and barrack huts to be cut down by bolter fire and blood-drenched chainswords.

"You know, March," he told his second, "once upon a time the Imperial Guard were actually worth fighting."

The other laughed. "That was a long time ago. It would be a change to have a worthy opponent before us."

Al-kaesil nodded. "It would indeed."

March lifted his arm to point but before he could speak a single bolter shot rang out and his head exploded. Al-kaesil turned slowly, drawing his daemonblade. A space marine stood casually, not twenty metres away. A space marine in the codex colours of the Emperor's Children.

"If you want an opponent, captain, feel free to try me," said the marine in a conversational tone.

"Sedreth, I presume? I see your reputation is well-earned. I shall make your death a long song of pain."

The warrior laughed. "As always, you talk a good fight." He triggered his jump-pack and roared into the air; Al-kaesil spun, expecting the man to challenge him, but the fiery trail had launched the traitor into the middle of the Guard encampment. Even over the thunder of battle he heard the man's shout.

Captain Sitel Overmars fired desperately into the mêlée at the huge armoured figures which had ambushed the Canthian 137th. Who were they? What were they? They looked like space marines, but they were carving the Emperor's troops into dogmeat. He swore, grabbing a panicking trooper.

"Hold the line! Form up on me. For the Emperor!"

Some troopers – he recognised sergeant Bukenhiltz – tried to do just that, but both he and they were being swept away by the terrified militia. A blaze of flame lit the sky and another armoured giant landed in the middle of it, a massive bolter roaring in his hands. At the other marines. The man's shout echoed over the encampment.

"Guard will rally! Rally on me! In the Emperor's Name!"

Overmars echoed the shout, pushing forward to join the warrior as the other marines – traitor marines, they must be, eternally damned heretics who had turned to the ruinous powers of chaos – turned to face the more dangerous threat.

"With me, 137th!" he bellowed, hurling himself forward with sword drawn and pistol spitting laser fire. Other troopers joined him, holding their ground against the rout, sergeants grabbing men and shoving rifles into their hands, turning them to face the enemy. "Forward!"

"For the Emperor!"

The answering roar was loud as more and more guardsmen rallied. No hope of orderly tactics here, just charge and shoot. Overmars led half a hundred warriors forward, shooting as they advanced. He saw the black-coated corpse of Commissar Aders and vaulted it at the run. "Onwards. For Canth and the Emperor!"

A second flare of fire in the night. A black-cloaked, lightning-armoured figure with a green glowing blade, dark of hair and eye and impossibly handsome, dropped out the sky, rallying the traitors again. They plunged into his men with roars of fury.

"Hold your ground. Stand and fight!" He emptied his pistol into a bat-winged helmet and the man fell back, then pulled himself upright. Emperor's balls, what did it take to kill these scum? Overmars lunged, his blade driving into an armoured knee joint and the traitor fell. Sergeant Diersen drove his bayonet into the fallen warrior's throat and held his trigger down, almost decapitating the enemy. Then Diersen went down, almost cut in two by a chainsword. Overmars barely parried the follow-up strike, the impact nearly knocking his sword out of his hand. Carsen leapt onto the armoured giant, detonating a grenade and blowing herself and the warrior's head to pieces. He grabbed a fallen rifle and fired at yet another.

"For the Emperor!"

Sedreth's bolter ripped a Night Lord apart at point-blank range, then he had to leap backwards to avoid the glowing daemonblade. He swept up a fallen chainsword and drew his short blade.

"Come on then, boy. Let's see how good you are."

The Night Lord captain laughed. "Indeed." His attack was blindingly fast, a blur of green, but the blade slid aside and he had to parry in his turn as the chainsword swung at his head.

Al-kaesil laughed. Now, this was war. A truly worthy enemy, face to face and hand to hand. He swung and parried, the universe shrinking to just the space marine and himself, _mano a mano_. He saw an opening and swung. His blade connected with the .. feather?.. on the man's armour which glowed suddenly white-gold, and simply bounced, throwing him off-balance. Something drove into his neck and he fell, the ground coming up to meet him in slow motion. He tasted blood and earth. Like the good earth on his father's farm. He remembered the Legion. His sister and brothers. His Alicia. He wished...

Sedreth stepped over the captain's corpse and drove the chainsword's whirring teeth into the side of another Night Lord. The man turned, ignoring the terrible wound as only a marine could, but a volley of las-fire slammed into him before he could riposte. Sedreth kicked the corpse aside, seeking another, but they were gone. He winced as the plasm in his side stretched again. Just as well the Guard couldn't see his face; space marines weren't supposed to show pain to ordinary mortals.

He scanned the area, autosenses on max. Nothing. Either the Night Lords were all dead, or the survivors had fled, for the moment. He turned to face the slender man in a bloodstained captain's uniform who pushed his way through the mob of jubilant guardsmen.

"Captain Overmars, sir, Canthian 137th Imperial Guard regiment."

Sedreth returned the man's salute with the traditional astartes one, fist to chest. "Honoured, captain. Your men fought well. In the end. Not many units could rally in the face of the Night Lords."

The man flushed. "Yes, sir. We are grateful for your assistance. Without you,.." he trailed off.

"You would be dead. Have you heavy weapons?"

"Uhm, yes, sir. "

Sedreth nodded and was about to continue when he heard the faint rumble of heavy armour. "We are about to have company, captain. I suggest that you sort out your unit before higher authority arrives."

He turned and walked to the untouched daemonblade, watched silently by dozens of guardsmen and -women. He picked it up, delicately, in two fingers and carried it gingerly to a slab of stone.

"You," he pointed to a man with the insignia of a heavy weapons squad on his shoulder, "bring me a las-cannon. Quickly." The man hurried to obey.

Overmars was calling out commands, ordering the survivors into some semblance of a coherent unit. Lights came up, illuminating the battlefield. Sedreth ignored the bustle as the lines of troops moved into ranks. He took the las-cannon from the soldier and indicated he should stand well clear. The rumble grew to a thunder as tanks and artillery and troops drove through the encampment's shattered gates. He glanced round, one eye still on the daemon weapon, in case. Higher authority indeed, a commissar, several officers in gold braid, an armoured woman in white and black. Bugger. He ignored them all and carefully positioned the las-cannon as close as he dared.

A voice came from behind him and he turned. The commissar.

"Commissar, I shall attend you shortly." He waved the man aside. The black-coated fanatic didn't move. Shit. He sighed. "Commissar, this is a daemonblade. Kindly move back while I destroy it."

The man said nothing, looking annoyed, but slowly moved back a few metres. Sedreth pressed the firing stud; a beam of white-hot light cut deeply into the possessed weapon and he felt rather than heard the scream of rage. He held the stud down, hearing the las-cannon whine in protest as its power source started to overheat. The enraged screams rose to a pitch and the sword shattered into three pieces, one narrowly missing his leg. He chuckled, and took a stasis field generator from his utility belt. Rare, and expensive, and almost irreplaceable, but nonetheless necessary. He activated the field around the shards and stepped back, looking round.

The commissar had been joined by the armoured woman.

"Sister. I trust you can destroy these remains?"

She nodded slowly, suspiciously.

"Is there a problem, sister?" he asked, remembering to stay polite however much he might want to slap her sort of fanatic.

She spoke quietly. "That depends on you, warrior. The Astartes Soul Drinkers are proscribed for heresy."

He laughed, sudden amusement at the irony of her mistake escaping him before he could control it. "Indeed, sister? I was unaware of that. Then again, I am not a Soul Drinker. Now, the stasis field will hold for a time. I suggest that the shards be shot into the sun; that tends to be fairly effective as a means of destruction. As to the Night Lords, their captain is dead, as is his second. Whatever they are doing here will have died with them; such are not usually given to discussing the reasons for their missions with the warriors under them. However, there may still be others lurking around somewhere, and they will have transport of some kind in the system. I suggest a full sweep of the area, and the assistance of your order in that operation. My mission leads me elsewhere."

She looked at him. She would have been quite pretty were it not for the hardness of her expression and the fanatical gleam in her eyes.

"And what mission is that, for an astartes who wears the colours of the Soul Drinkers but claims not to be one of them?"

He shrugged. "My mission is to hunt and kill the enemies of humanity, sister. To protect the innocent and defend them from persecution." He saw Overmars walking over in their direction and ignored the two fanatics to speak with the man.

"Captain, do you have a soldier who resides at the farm at grid reference Fal-septis-gamma?"

The man nodded, looking uncomfortable. "Private Smitsen, sir. He was killed in the attack. He was the sentry who managed to give a warning; the only one who did."

"I see. Might I see the body?"

"Of course." Overmars led him to where rows of bodies were being laid out, ready for burial. The Sister of Battle and the Commissar followed, looking bemused.

"This is Smitsen." A dark-haired man, his chest driven in and drenched with blood.

"Have you his personal effects?" Sedreth asked.

Overmars nodded to the orderly beside him who picked out a small transparent plastic sack and handed it to him.

The Sister spoke. "Why is this man so interesting, astartes?"

Sedreth looked at her. "A matter of honour, sister. His wife saved my life yesterday."

Overmars looked thunderstruck. "Sara Smitsen saved _your_ life?"

Sedreth looked back at him. "Yes. I'm good, but even I'm not good enough to take four Night Lords at once. She shot the last, or he would have finished me."

"Oh," he said, nodding slightly. "I see."

Sedreth chuckled and lightly clapped the man on the shoulder, making him wince in pain and stagger slightly. "You and your men fought well, captain. Stay brave. And stay alive. I shall return Kanret Smitsen's effects to his wife and child."

"Astartes, I regret that you will not. Not until I know who and what you are." Her voice was flat and hostile. Her hand was on her powersword, and she drew it slowly, deliberate threat.

"Fanatics. You're all the same," he said, not bothering to hide his derision. "Very well, sister Agnetha. Since you insist, my name is astartes Morgan Sedreth. I am, or more accurately I was, a sergeant in the 79th Combat Century of Legio Astartes Tres."

She blinked. "Legio Astartes Tres?"

"Emperor's teeth, woman, don't you speak Latin? The Third Legion Astartes. Ah, I see you recognise_ that_." He slid aside from the attack with casual ease, slapping the blade down into the ground. "Woman, if I wanted you dead, you'd be dead already. Put up your weapon."

Her only response was a snarl of fury. "Kill him. He is one of the Emperor's Children Legion, a follower of the arch-heretic Horus."

The Commissar's weapon was in his hand incredibly fast. So were the las-pistols of those close enough to hear her. She pulled her blade clear just in time for him to spin her into him.

"My life means nothing. Kill this heretic."

Light flared. They fired. At nothing. The marine and his captive had vanished.


	3. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

The light was too bright to see. It hurt her tummy. Then she was somewhere else, on a cool metal floor. Mummy was lying beside her, with her eyes closed like she was asleep. She felt tears and rubbed them away. Mr Morgan had told her to be brave. So she would be. Anyway the hurt was going away already.

She looked round from where she sat on the floor. They were in a big metal room, with lots of chairs. Really, really big chairs, all black leathery padding. All the chairs were in front of 'puter screens, some glowing, others not. There was a big set of doors on the right, and another smaller door behind them. In front of them was a huge window, and out of it she could see blackness, with little dots of light. It was a scary place, with a faint hum of machinery just loud enough to hear if you tried hard. A gold-coloured plate with writing on it was right in the centre of the floor, a few decems from them. She wished she was better at her letters so she could read it properly; the writing was funny.

She looked at mummy again, wondering if she should wake her up. No, she decided. Mr Morgan said mummy would be alright, so she would do what he said and be good. She nuggled down into mummy's warm mummy-ness and closed her eyes.

Sara woke to pain in her hand and back. She looked down at her sleeping daughter's head with a sense of relief. They were in some sort of control room, on a ship. Viewing windows showed what had to be the darkness of space. She wondered why there was no-one else around; surely Morgan wouldn't have come to the surface with all the crew? Maybe this was a secondary control centre or something. She felt suddenly tired again; the stuff Morgan had put on her hand and back must have some sort of sedative in it. She was too weak to worry about it, and just put her good arm around Janey before sleep claimed her again.

Janey woke slowly. She was lying on something hard. Oh. The floor of Mr Morgan's ship. She looked at mummy, who seemed to come awake at the movement. Her eyes opened and she smiled. Janey smiled back.

"Hi, mummy. Are you better?"

"Hi, darling. A bit, I think. Are you alright?"

She nodded. "I'm hungry. We missed dinner."

Mummy nodded. "So we did. Have you got our bags?"

She nodded yes. Mummy smiled and moved carefully to sit up, like her back hurt.

"Is it very sore, mummy?"

"It is, a bit. But it's better than it was. Pass me my bag, darling."

She did. Mummy opened the bag and took out a smaller bag and a big bottle. She smiled a proper mummy smile. "I thought we might be going a long way, so I packed some water and some sandwiches. I didn't think we'd be going this far, though."

"Have we gone far, mummy?" she asked, puzzled. They'd not seemed to move, just the bright light and the funny pain in her tummy, which was all gone now.

"I think we have, darling. We're up above the world now. That's space outside. Shall we have a proper look? Or do you want to eat first?"

She thought for a second, then her tummy rumbled. "Eat first."

Mummy smiled and gave her a san'wich. Cold mutton with mummy's chutney. She took a bite eagerly. They ate together, sharing the bottle of water. Mummy smiled at her again.

"Finished?"

She nodded, suddenly interested in looking out the big windows. Mummy stood, slowly, like she was stiff and took her hand. They walked across the metal floor and mummy helped her get up on a chair. Wow. It was all black except for a huge glowy circle just down and to the left, all blue and white and grey and green, and another slightly smaller one, all bright orange, up and to the right.

"That's the world, darling. That's Canth."

"Wow. What's the other one, mummy?"

"That's the sun, darling. That's the star the world goes round. Emory's Star."

"But isn't it bad to look at it?"

"Normally, yes. But these windows must have a filter, so the brightness doesn't hurt your eyes."

"Can we see the moons, mummy?"

"I don't think so. I don't see them anyway. They must be on the other side of the world."

"Will Mr Morgan let us see them?"

Mummy smiled. "I don't know. Perhaps if you ask very nicely, maybe."

She nodded. "Is Mr Morgan a space marine, mummy?"

"Yes, darling, I think he is."

She giggled. "That's so cool. All the other kids will be so jealous that I met a real marine," she said.

Mummy laughed, then made a funny face as if it hurt to laugh. She sat in a chair; it was too big for her as well. Janey had a sudden thought.

"Mummy, what does the writing say? On the floor over there?"

Mummy looked round. "I can't read it from here," she said, and got up and walked over. Janey jumped down and walked over too.

Mummy looked at the elegantly incised formal Gothic script. "_Eyes of the Phoenix, epsilon-76, 0001-delta, 29-sigma, gamma-79_," she read aloud.

"What does that mean, mummy?"

"I don't know, darling. But I would guess that it's the ship's nameplate, so she must be called _Eyes of the Phoenix_. What the rest means I have no idea."

"Eyes of the Fee-nix? What's a Fee-nix?"

"I think it was a kind of mythical bird, darling."

"Oh. Would Mr Morgan know?"

"He might. I doubt he'll have the time to tell us though. Space marines have lots of important things to do. Much more important things that answering questions about birds."

She nodded, feeling disappointed even though she knew mummy was right. She went back to her chair and stood up on it, looking out of the windows again.

"Mummy, are we high up?"

"Darling, we're in orbit. We're hundreds of kilometres up."

She shook her head. "That's not what I mean. Look." She pointed. "If you look down, you can see a long pointy thing. Is that the ship?"

Mummy looked where she was pointing. A long metal platform stretched in front of them, ending in a wedge shape; what appeared to be turrets and small buildings studded the length of it. "Oh, yes, I see what you mean. We must be quite high then, near the top of the ship. That must be some of the rest of it."

"How big is it, mummy?"

"I don't know. I think it's very big, though."

Janey nodded. "Why haven't we met anyone then?"

"I don't know that either, darling. I think this must be a secondary control room or something. Probably no-one comes in here very much, and if Mr Morgan didn't think to tell anyone we're here, they wouldn't know to come and find us."

Janey nodded again and sat down in her chair. If was quite squidgy and comfy, even though it was too big. "Mummy, Mr Morgan won't forget about us, will he?"

"No, darling. He's a space marine. They don't forget important things."

"Are we important?"

"If he teleported us to his ship, we are."

"Mummy, can I get in the chair with you?"

"Of course, darling. You come and nuggle in and we can wait for Mr Morgan together."

She smiled and jumped down, climbing into the chair and resting her head on mummy. Ships were nice, but mummy was better, she decided. After a little while she fell asleep again.

There were voices. Two of them, both angry. A man, very deep and certain, and a woman, higher and angrier. Outside the little door. She looked at mummy who looked back. Neither of them moved, just listening.

Sedreth cursed. He hadn't wanted to bring the Sister aboard; she might be traceable. He squeezed, quite hard. She was unconscious before she could protest. He swiftly stripped her of armour and weapons, locking them away and wrapping her nakedness in an old robe he'd found in a locker a couple of months before. Stupid woman. He made sure she was unconscious and went to check on his other guests.

They were asleep, both of them curled up in the comms officer's chair. If he had a comms officer. He checked the systems; all nominal. Good. Slipping out again, he left the pair to sleep; the woman certainly needed it. Right. Time to deal with the fanatic.

She came to quickly enough when he tapped her face gently, the pretty features distorting into a grimace of hatred.

"Don't speak, woman, just listen. You are here because I didn't want to kill you. I have no interest in you, nor in your fanaticism. You and those like you annoy me; do your best not to for the short time you're here. You wouldn't like me when I'm angry."

She glared, but held her tongue, for now.

"What will happen to the soldiers who fought with me?"

She gave him a look that spoke volumes. He felt the anger rise.

"They fought gallantly against the Night Lords – known traitors – not even knowing who I was, except that I was obviously a space marine, and you and your fanatical friends are going to have them charged with heresy?"

Her eyes told that unpleasant truth. Wonderful.

"And what of sera Smitsen and her little girl? You overheard my saying that she saved my life, correct?"

She glared.

"Correct?"

She nodded slightly, an expression of cold, triumphant hatred in her eyes.

"So they will be put to the question? Either by you or by the idiots of the Inquisition?"

The truth was obvious from her expression. He gave her a look of contempt and decided to try another tack to get through to her.

"Do you know what this is?" he said, indicating the pinion attached to his armour.

She looked at him. He waited. Eventually she spoke. "I neither know nor care, heretic. Do with me as you will. My soul is safe in the Emperor's light."

"Really? I met Him. You know that? The Emperor. Spoke with Him. Just once, when this ship, my ship, was launched. He inspected our Century. He isn't a god, sister Agnetha. He never claimed to be a god; denied any such idea. He would be appalled at what people like you have made of his dream. Your stupidity, your idiotic fanatical worship, that's what lets the forces of chaos gain a foothold in humanity. Your religion is the key to the destruction of the human race."

She swore at that, cursed aloud. "You are a heretic. A follower of ruinous powers, evil and vile. The Emperor is the only hope in the galaxy. Immortal and eternal, He protects, He and He alone." She struggled against her bindings. Futile, and under other circumstances amusing. Not here. Not now.

"I was. I am no longer. I follow my Emperor – Him, not the Imperium. I am an Emperor's Children astartes, woman. The last true astartes of my Legion. And I could change your mind, if I wished. Oh, yes, I could. I could turn you to any purpose I wanted, because everyone has limits, and I know how to find them. I could break you, easily. But you are not worth the breaking. I have told you truth. Perhaps one day you will gain sufficient wisdom to realise it and to think on it. When you do, examine your conscience. Is what you do any different from what the Word Bearers do? Or any other of the chaos legions? They torture, they force belief, they believe, as you do, that the end justifies the means. I tell you the most fundamental truth of all. It does not. It cannot. You cannot defeat evil by doing evil, woman. You and yours have become the mirror image of the forces you oppose, and the ruinous powers gloat in triumph. But they have not won yet. Not as long as there are men and women of simple courage and honour, who build and do not destroy, who love and do not give in to hate, who fight to protect with mercy in their hearts and pity in their hands. I have no doubt that you will torture and kill Captain Overmars and many of his brave men. Know as you do so, that they are greater than you, better than you, finer than you, more human than you."

She spat, the liquid not quite reaching him. He chuckled.

"I am going to return your armour and weapons, Sister Agnetha. Go in peace, this day. And try and be a better person." He gave a wry smile. "I do."

"I will not touch anything befouled by your tainted hands, traitor. I shall hunt you down, heretic, you and all your dupes and assistants, and destroy the canker that defines you."

He looked at her and sighed. "As you wish." He touched the stud and she vanished in a flare of light. A soft movement from next door. Damn. They had not overheard?

He walked to the door and opened it.

They stood there, the girl looking guilty, the woman perplexed. Blast and damn it.

"You heard then?"

They nodded. He looked at the two of them.

"I hoped I could spare you that conversation, at least. Sera Smitsen, Janey. I am, unused, to apologies, to giving comfort. I am sorry. Kanret Smitsen was killed in action yesterday. His unit was attacked by the Night Lords, who were driven off with heavy casualties on both sides. His captain told me that only one sentry managed to give warning of the attack, and that without it, the entire force would have died. The sentry in question was Kanret Smitsen. He saved hundreds of lives by his actions. I regret that he was unable to save his own." He hesitated, then turned and picked up the small sack of personal effects, taking it back through to the bridge and handing it gently to the crying woman. "I shall leave you alone for a small while. There is something I still have to do on Canth."

They nodded, automatically, not really listening. Sara Smitsen was sitting on the deck, holding the small bag, tears streaming down her face, while her daughter simply sobbed into her shoulder. He turned and shut the door behind him.

No-one had disturbed the small farmstead since he had left it. He went quickly up the stairs, searching for what had to be there. A small carved wooden jewel case, a book of wedding pictures, a silver-framed flatpic of the three of them. He went into the girl's room, picked up the bedding, a rapid collection of other things that might be important to a child. Outside, to collect the doll's house. There was a sign over the mantel in the bolt-scarred living room, a blessing, hand-carved into polished wood, well cared-for. He took that as well. The sound of engines approached. There was not enough time for aught else. He 'ported back aboard, carefully placed all the items in a locker, secured them against any likely damage due to manoeuvre. Then he walked back through to the bridge.

They were still there, holding each other, but they looked up as he entered. He looked for condemnation but found none, much to his relief and surprise.

"I think, before we go any further, that we need to introduce ourselves properly. I am Morgan Sedreth, formerly an astartes marine of the Third Legion, commonly called the Emperor's Children. You may address me as Morgan, or Sedreth, as you prefer."

Sara answered him, still nervous.

"I am Sara Smitsen. This is my daughter, Janey."

He nodded a formal greeting, waiting for them to pose the obvious question. It was the mother who asked it.

"Morgan, uhm, what do you mean, 'formerly'?"

He sat down, not wanting to loom and appear threatening. Or more threatening than he could help. He looked straight at them. "Because I am no longer a space marine of the Emperor's Children." He paused. "Sera Smitsen, Janey, understand that the answer to your question involves issues that the Imperium does not like its citizens to know about. And once you know, you cannot un-know. Do you want me to continue?"

They both nodded, Janey eagerly, her mother more cautiously.

"Very well. A long time ago, on a played-out mining planet named Chemos, I was born to an ordinary family. My father was a simple fisherman who sailed an ancient leaky boat on a dying sea; my mother filleted and sold his catch. I was brought up to follow in his footsteps, but I, like many young men, wanted more. I heard of a great warrior and scholar who was uniting our disparate city-states and left my small village, with my best friend Ethaniel Cadris, to join him. We were both young, just fifteen, but join him we did. We became part of his army and fought in several campaigns until we were selected for his elite troops, called the Phoenix Guard, after our lord who had taken the Phoenix as his symbol."

"Mr Morgan, what's a Phoenix?"

"It is a kind of mythical bird, which was said to die in a burst of flame only to reborn anew from its own ashes. In ancient times it was considered a symbol of rebirth and wisdom."

He paused for her nod, then continued. "At this time, the Emperor had recently completed his own unification of Terra, and embarked upon his great Crusade to bring all the scattered worlds of humanity back together. To help him in this great endeavour he had used genetic technologies to produce twenty sons, known as Primarchs. Each of these great beings would have a measure of the Emperor's own strength and wisdom, and so be able to assist Him, for the galaxy is a very large place even for a being such as He. And the Emperor used the genetic material he had left to build super-warriors in the image of his sons, twenty great Legions of astartes marines to defend humanity from all enemies. But the ruinous powers of the warp, realising the threat a unified humanity could pose to them, used their own powers to scatter the infant Primarchs across the inhabited worlds, that they could not be taught and trained by their father. Thus the great Legions grew up without their natural fathers, and took part in the Great Crusade under temporary commanders until each Legion's Primarch could be found. And they were, one by one.

"After the Crusade had endured some time, it reached Chemos, and there we discovered that our Phoenix Lord was one of these Primarchs, a son of the immortal Emperor. That explained many things; his intelligence, his superhuman size and speed, strength and endurance, and even his perfect physique and features. But the place of one of the Emperor's sons was with his father, and Fulgrim, our Lord, agreed to join the Great Crusade, at the head of the Legion cast in his likeness, the Third Legio Astartes. And he took his elite warriors with him, for us to receive the genetic enhancements that turned us from skilled but normal human warriors to astartes space marines. We grew taller and stronger and tougher and faster. We learned to wear power armour and to fight with the weapons of the Imperium. Following a speech by our Lord, the Emperor was pleased to allow us the title of Emperor's Children, and we alone amongst the Legions were permitted to wear His device on our personal wargear. Under that name we took part in the re-unification of the human race. It lasted.."

"Two hundred years. The reverend told us that in Sunday school."

Sedreth nodded, smiling briefly. "Indeed it did, until following the conquest of the orks on Ullanor, the Emperor withdrew from personal participation and named His eldest son, or more accurately His first-found son, to command in His place. While each Primarch retained control of his Legion, the direction of those Legions was placed at the discretion of the Emperor's Warmaster."

Sara seemed to pale beneath the frontier tan. "Warmaster?"

He nodded slowly. "That was the title he was given. I gather that is a word you have heard before, and not in pleasant terms?"

She nodded.

"I know why. The Primarch in question was the leader of the XVI Legion, the Luna Wolves. His name was Horus. Horus Lupercal."

"The Arch-Heretic," breathed Sara, appalled. Janey looked worriedly at her mother, then back at him.

"I warned you, sera. What I have told you so far is by and large common knowledge. What follows is not. Do I continue?"

She nodded, as if unable to refuse, wanting but reluctant to hear him.

"Very well. At first all went well, as it had done. But following a campaign on a world named Davin, the Warmaster was seriously wounded. You must understand that this was almost unheard of; Primarchs were well-nigh invulnerable to any ordinary weapon. Anyway, he was healed, with the assistance of a warrior from the XVII Legion named Erebus. I shall not speak more of _him_. After he had healed, the Warmaster was changed. He was still brilliant at strategy and tactics, still a magnificent and charismatic leader, but he gradually became more ruthless, more relentless, more driven, more proud. And feeling started to spread amongst many of the Legions, that the Emperor was betraying his loyal warriors, to hand over their conquests and authority to soft-handed clerks and politicians. Even in our Legion, such rumours arose. Following a campaign against a species known as the Laer, our Lord was gifted a great sword, taken from one of their temples, as a sign of his superlative skill and our courage; for the campaign had been expected to last years, but we conquered them utterly in only months. And he too started to grow prouder, even arrogant, as he had not been before."

"So, when the Warmaster chose four Legions, including his own, now known as the Sons of Horus, to campaign alongside him, we were pleased and honoured to be one of them, and more, felt superior to other Legions not so tasked. We were ordered to put down a rebellion in the Isstvan system. My own Primarch was ordered to take a small honour guard and meet with his brother Ferrus Manus, Primarch of the Iron Hands, the Tenth Legion, while the Isstvan system was being dealt with. My company, recently honoured for action alongside the Ninth Legion, was assigned as part of his honour guard. So we were not there when Horus struck the first blow in his rebellion."

"What did he do?" asked Sara.

"He hand-picked the units to make the surface assault, mixing up companies and officers. The units he selected were those he knew he could not count on to join him in rebellion. Once they were in action on the surface, he virus-bombed the world from orbit. The loyal astartes of the Luna Wolves, Emperor's Children, Death Guard and World Eaters Legions were to be massacred. Unfortunately for Horus, the First Captain of the Emperor's Children, Saul Tarvitz, was still loyal to the Emperor, and he managed to get to the surface with a warning. Many of the loyal astartes were able to get to cover and survived to become a unified force under Tarvitz's command; instead of a massacre, Horus suddenly had a war on his hands. Moreover, a war against troops every bit as good as his own, who, devoid of any way to escape the planet, were determined to take as many of Horus' forces with them to death as they could. Sixty thousand astartes survived the initial treachery on Isstvan III. Between them they killed many times that number of rebels. They held out for more than four months, until Horus fire-bombed the last survivors from orbit, turning their last defences into radioactive glass."

"What happened next?" asked Janey, breathlessly.

"Well, we were unsuccessful with the Tenth. We had to fight our way out after Fulgrim and Ferrus Manus came to blows, and arrived just after the final massacre. Believing in our Primarch, myself and my brothers stood beside him as the Emperor's response came. Three Legions, the Iron Hands, the Salamanders, and the Raven Guard, dropped against us on the fifth planet of the Isstvan system. The fighting was ferocious and we gave ground. Then four more Legions dropped. The Alpha Legion, the Word Bearers, the Iron Warriors and the Night Lords had also been ordered by the Emperor to destroy Horus' rebels. But they did not. Instead they opened fire, without warning and from behind, on the three loyal Legions in what has since become known as the Drop-site Massacre."

Sara went white. "You were there? You were part of that?"

He nodded. "Yes. I fought near my Primarch, and I saw him meet his brother Ferrus in a duel the likes of which I would not want to see again."

"Who won?"

"Fulgrim. And as his brother fell before him, he hesitated on the killing blow, but that damned Laer sword seemed to swing of its own accord and the Primarch of the Iron Hands was dead. And my Lord wept. He looked round, wildly and horrified at the massacre around him, and he reversed the blade to plunge into his own chest. Then he stopped, as if he heard something else. And it took him. I saw his eyes change colour, from gold to black and back, and pure evil look out of that perfect, beloved countenance. I went mad, I think, in that moment. I launched myself into the Iron Hands line like a man possessed, wanting only blood and death. What happened next, you basically know."

"The Heresy." Sara's voice was not asking a question, but he nodded all the same.

"We made for Terra, but the Legions that left high anchor at Isstvan were not what arrived five years later in the Sol system. They, we, had changed. The Death Guard were no longer upright and proud, but twisted and diseased, festering with rot. The World Eaters were not merely deadly close combat troops, but insane berserkers, their white and blue armour changed for red and brass. The Sons of Horus were arrogant and prideful, devoid of nobility and honour, living only for conquest. And we, the most perfect of the Emperor's Legions, had devolved into hedonistic barbarism, seeking only sensation. On Terra, the crimes we committed were vile beyond belief. Only a few of the Children took active part in the Siege of the Imperial Palace. The rest, I shall not repeat what they did in a child's hearing. Suffice to say I am still sickened by it a hundred centuries later."

"You fought in the Siege, didn't you?"

"All of us did, all the survivors of the 79th. Most of our Century had dropped on Isstvan III and died fighting Horus, although we did not know it at the time. Those of us who had accompanied the Primarch to treat with the Iron Hands were made up to strength from other units and fought right through to the Siege; there was nothing else we _could_ do. Only a dozen of us survived to take flight with the Legion after Horus was killed."

Janey spoke, her voice soft. "What happened then, Mr Morgan?"

"We fled, like the rest of the rebel legions, to the Eye of Terror. There the Legion was turned, those who had not already turned, to the worship of a particular chaos power, whose name I shall not repeat. We became oath-sworn warriors of chaos, our proud Imperial purple and gold discarded for the black and clashing pastel pinks and greens of our patron power. My Century, the proud 79th, became the most feared warband of the Legion, available for hire to any force which would guarantee worthy opponents. That much, that tiny desire for perfection, we still retained of what we had been. For ten thousand years we fought, our numbers gradually dwindling, occasionally taking on new members if we found any worthy. We committed crimes and vile acts that have no name, for they are beyond the imaginations of most humans. We killed any and all creatures, without mercy, without compunction, with cold ruthless efficient sadism. We inflicted horror on the innocent; it was the only way we could face the horror of our own fate. Under the screams of our victims, our own internal screams of damnation could go unheeded."

Both of them were looking very scared now.

"Finally, just a few years ago, we were hired by a mighty chaos sorcerer, one Ahriman. At his orders, we found our way to a forgotten world on which stood an ancient temple. In the square before that temple the 79th was almost overwhelmed, for the first time. Only myself and Cadris survived. Yes, that same Ethaniel Cadris who had trekked across half a continent on Chemos with me all those centuries before. On Ahriman's instruction we two entered the temple alone."

"What happened?"

"He died. And I wept. For the first time in ten millennia, I wept. I felt afresh all the pain I had caused and all the pain I had felt; the despair and the sorrow, the pride and the glory, all of my memories as if living them for the first time. And I received the choice. To join anew the chaos powers, and become a mightier champion than any living, or to join the Imperium and fight as an Imperial astartes. I refused both. The ruinous powers I hopelessly served I already despised and despise still. The Imperium has fallen so far from the ideals we fought for as to be unworthy of the name, or of the Emperor."

He smiled slightly. "I suspect that that third choice was the last trial I faced there. I am astartes again, but I do not take Imperial orders. My loyalty is to the Emperor, to the ideals of the Great Crusade, not to the Imperium. This ship, my ship, and I travel amongst the stars, searching for injustice and evil, and facing it as best we can."

He looked across at two rapt faces.

"Sera, Janey, you overheard the conversation I had with the Sister. It is a choice I cannot make for you. You can return to your home. It is likely that you will be arrested. They might be gentle with a child; I do not trust they would be with an adult. Or you can remain. If you do, you will like as not never see your home again. And I do not guarantee any sort of easy existence; I hunt the Night Lords and their ilk, and in turn they hunt me. If you stay you will see, and experience, violence and loss. Either choice is a hard road to take."

The woman nodded, sniffed back more tears. "My husband is dead, the harvest not in. The landbank will take the farm. So, regardless of the Imperium's agents, we will have nothing. And I will not willingly subject Janey to the Inquisition."

He nodded. "Janey?"

"I want my daddy."

He knelt slowly, until he was at eye level for her. "I want him too. I would have been honoured to meet him. I am sorry, Janey, but he will lie with his friends on Canth."

She looked at him and her eyes filled with tears, the small mouth trembling. She turned and buried her face in her mother's chest. Sedreth stood again, his expression unreadable. He walked to the pilot's station and called up navigation, carefully laying in a slingshot course around the larger of the planet's moons. Behind him the heartbroken sobs slowly quieted.

Course laid in, he turned to his two passengers again. They looked at him wide-eyed and nervous.

He looked back and gave a tiny twitch of the lips which might have been a smile.

"You had better strap yourselves in. When we start to move, the cloak will drop. It cannot cope with the amount of power we will be putting out. We may be detected and fired on, and in any case, the accelerative forces will be beyond the capacity of the compensators."

"What's akk-sil-itive?" asked the girl, as her mother buckled safety straps round her small form.

"Accelerative. It means that we will be going faster and faster, Janey. Since we will not be travelling in a straight line, we will feel as if we are being pushed around."

"Like the whirly wheel at the fair?"

"Yes, but much faster. We will take a partial orbit and slingshot round Canthus Secundus. What you call Brightmoon. Its gravity will fire us like a projectile towards system nadir, and we will be able to jump to warp before anyone can stop us."

"Where are we going?"

"Where she takes us. The old lady seems to have a mind of her own." He patted the console in front of him affectionately.

Sara looked terrified. "You don't have navigators?"

He met her eyes. "Sara, I don't have _anyone_. Just the ship. And now, you two. If you want to think of it like this, I do the Emperor's will, and He protects. Neither I nor the ship have any other allegiance."

She looked at him, obviously not convinced, but trying hard not to communicate her fear to her child. He smiled gravely. "I would not put you at greater risk than need be. The Geller fields are strong."

Sara hesitantly buckled in her harness. He nodded and punched the main drives.

"Is that Brightmoon, mummy?"

"I think so."

"It's getting awful close."

The acceleration pressed them back in their seats as _Eyes of the Phoenix_ swung suicidally close around the rocky planetoid, swung their chairs sideways as they shot c-fractional outwards, far faster than any weapons platform operator could hope to react.

"Wheeeee!" screamed the girl excitedly, bereavement briefly forgotten in the adrenaline rush.

Sedreth started the Geller fields, bringing them to full power. As an afterthought he brought up the ancient vessel's shields too. Just in case.

"Coming up on warp entry."

The passengers looked on in astonished awe as lightnings crackled round the sudden hole in reality, then they vanished off the scopes in Canth system.

Three weeks later, a strike cruiser from the Lamenters Chapter Astartes arrived at Canth in answer to reports of a Night Lord incursion. Captain Veniel, of the 4th Company, interviewed several of the survivors of the Canthian 137th regiment. All of them agreed that the mysterious space marine had borne a white feather on his armour and that the feather had glowed white-gold and deflected a daemon weapon wielded by the enemy commander. The Lamenters were very interested in this information. They were also interested, and less than pleased, at the actions of Sister Agnetha, Order of the Argent Shroud, and of various Commissars and officials. Conducting their own review of the action, with the expert assistance of brother-librarians Castor and Tervel, they ensured that captain Sitel Overmars was exhumed and re-buried, a hero of the Imperium, with full military honours, beside his men. In addition, several of the youngest guardsmen were discreetly ferried off Canth, and these found new ways to serve the Imperium, for the Lamenters were ever ready to accept suitable recruits. However, and despite a rigorous search, no sign of Morgan Sedreth was found.


	4. Chapter Three

Chapter Three

The watcher slipped easily through the crowded thoroughfare, his drab nonentity blending in seamlessly with the equally down-at-heel denizens around him. Here, in the lower tiers of Litsbeg, the second city of hive-world Haura, in what had once been called the Ark Reach Cluster, poverty and deprivation were second nature, so commonplace as to be considered standard. The watcher moved amongst the dense bustle, through market-places and past half-rusted manufactoriums, alert, his enhanced senses attuned to the different and the unusual.

A scent reached his nostrils, one different from the packed mass of humanity. Oh, human, definitely, but cleaner, fresher, than was typical. He blinked twice, triggering visual acuities far beyond the human norm. His eyes followed the microscopic scent trail. There. The woman and child. He moved through the crowd, ghosting behind them. They looked typical: worn, second-hand clothing, carefully stitched and patched; hard bargaining for just adequate staples; closely held bag, and in the child's case a tightly clutched and well-worn toy. But. That scent. They were not of this place; strangers, perhaps immigrants. He followed, as much out of curiosity as the knowledge that such often became victims of those he was targeted against.

"Mummy, can I get a new coat for Mikey?" asked the child, tugging at her mother's worn cloak.

The woman turned, stopped and knelt, touched the girl's face. "I'm sorry darling, we can't afford it. But I'll help you make him one when we get home, alright?"

The watcher hesitated, suddenly recognising the place. A bad one to stop – most people moved swiftly here. A glint in the shadows coalesced into forms. A hive gang. Old instincts warred with orders; orders won and he remained hidden, observing the unfolding tragedy even as more knowledgeable denizens left apace. No-one would stay to assist. Not here.

The leader of the gang gave an evil smile as he moved forward. "Well, well, what have we here? Hello, pretty."

The woman drew herself up, pulling her daughter behind her in a mixture of fear and defiance and maternal protection. "We've no money, if that's what you're after."

The man laughed, the chill sound echoed by the half-dozen others with him. "We don't want money, pretty. We only want to invite you to our service. The Reader will be pleased to receive extra guests."

The woman looked nervously at the surrounding gangers, some of whom were drawing weapons. "We visit the cathedral regularly. I am sorry but we can't."

The man smiled even wider. "Perhaps you misunderstood, pretty. I wasn't really asking." He drew a long-bladed knife. The girl clutched her toy closer, huddling against her mother. The watcher grimaced. A soft movement behind him and he turned, faster than anyone should have been able to. Not fast enough. A huge hand enveloped him and darkness came down.

Spiker grinned as he drew his own blade, sadistically drinking in the obvious fear of the woman and girl-child. He wondered idly how loud the child would scream when he started to skin her on the altar. Shiv was taking too long, though. Get on with it, he thought, even as a large cloaked figure emerged from the shadows. Damn.

"Is there a problem here?" rumbled a bass voice.

"Mr Morgan!" cried the girl and started to run towards the newcomer.

Then everything happened at once. Shiv made a grab for the girl who spun and squeezed her toy, spraying him with some sort of liquid which dropped him like a stone. The woman suddenly had a gun in her hand and Maxie and Span were down. The big man leapt, a blade flying from his hand and into Snatch's throat even as she lunged for the woman from behind. Devs was smashed into a wall by a massive boot before she could even get off a shot, and big Goggs was lifted clean from his feet one-handed as the cloaked figure landed beside him. The sound of his muscled neck snapping was like a pistol shot and Spiker didn't wait for anything else. He fled, ducking another shot from the woman which spattered his face with stone chips. He didn't even feel the tiny tracer that stuck on his back.

"You are both unhurt?"

Sara nodded. Her hands were starting to shake with reaction. Janey just looked around at all the bodies and buried her face in her mother's skirts. Sedreth looked relieved for a second, then scooped up the unconscious gang leader in one hand, leading them both over to the shadowed access-way he'd hidden himself in. There was another unconscious man there, and Sedreth picked him up too. His solemn grey gaze met Sara's, then he touched the teleport stud and they vanished together. No-one saw them leave. No-one would have admitted it if they had.

"Who is he?" asked Sara, indicating the second man.

"I do not know. But he was following and observing you both. I rather want to know why."

Janey looked at the big marine nervously. "Are you going to hurt him?"

"No, Janey. Not unless he makes me. There are more effective ways than pain to find answers." He gave a faint smile. "Heretical though that statement might be in certain quarters."

"Did we do right?"

"You both did very well, Janey. I am very proud of you. Now, I want you to go and fix us something to eat. Can you do that?"

"Yes, Mr Morgan," she said more happily and headed off to the lift and the little galley that she and her mother had converted to a more kitchen-type area.

Sedreth looked at Sara. "You do not have to stay."

She nodded. "Yes, I do. He would have killed me. Killed Janey. I want him to see my face and know the fear he has inflicted on others for a change."

He nodded. "Do not give in to the anger, Sara. Trust me, that is a path you do not want to walk."

She looked at him, then sighed and nodded. "I know, but it's hard."

He smiled. "Anger is natural; he threatened your child. But it cannot be allowed to control you or your actions."

She nodded again and took a seat. He carried the unconscious and mysterious second man to a different room and injected him with a powerful sedative. It would not, he suspected, be long effective, but it would suffice, for now. He returned to their primary captive, casually ripping off the man's clothing and chaining him to a metal chair by ankles and wrists. Then he took a stimulant and brought the ganger round.

Shiv shuddered as he felt consciousness return. What? Where was he? He felt cool air on his bare skin and metal on his wrists and ankles. Hesitantly he raised his head, squinting as a bright light came on, bathing him in a pool of radiance. The pretty woman from the junction sat across from him, dressed in the formal woman's robe of a high Imperial family, and holding a recording device which bore the stylised I of the Imperial Inquisition. Oh shit. He bit back a whimper of sudden terror.

A deep cold voice spoke from behind him.

"Good evening, citizen. I trust that as a loyal servant of the Emperor you are going to answer our questions without lying." A panel opened, just below eye-level to his left, revealing a gleaming row of metal implements, most of which looked extremely sharp. "It would be very, disappointing, otherwise."

He squirmed in fear.

"I shall take that as an affirmative. Let us begin. What was your intention towards the two agents who captured you?"

He whimpered in terror. "I didn't know they were agents. I swear I didn't."

"We know that. What was your intention?"

"I, I."

The voice spoke again, soft and menacing. "Let me explain this so that you can understand. You are going to die. My record for keeping someone alive and knowing under duress is seventeen weeks. Then her mind broke. It is up to you whether your death is painful and prolonged or quick and merciful. Now, what were your intentions?"

Shiv felt his bladder give way in terror. "To, to take them to the Reader."

"Who is this Reader?"

"A warrior, in armour. He performs the rituals, provides us with the Emperor's assistance in exchange for sacrifices."

"The Emperor's assistance? And what form does this assistance take?"

"Uh, it varies. One time the Emperor sent a warrior to help us defeat the Chain Group on the level above. Another time He sent us a dog-like creature which wiped out a crime syndicate opposing us. Last time He sent us information about the whereabouts of a contraband shipment."

"I see. And the sacrifices?"

Shiv trembled. They would kill him for sure now. "Uh, people. Taken off the streets. Sometimes they're killed. Most times we just hurt them. Sometimes we give them drugs to make them lust, and join in. The Reader says that makes their minds link with His so He can connect with His people."

"The Reader lies. As I think you know, or guess. Don't you?"

Shiv shuddered against the cold and the wet patch underneath him. He nodded.

"How deep are you in, little man? How far have you been initiated?"

Shiv panicked. "I swear, I haven't. The Reader wants more sacrifices before .." he trailed off.

"Before you are rewarded with power. Oh, we've heard that before, believe me. It is also a lie, little man. Describe this Reader."

"Uhm, big. I haven't seen his face. He wears black armour, like the armour you see in pictures of space marines. He has a big staff which sort of glows."

"Does his armour have any decoration?"

"Just a book, attached to the left shoulder somehow."

He felt a touch on his neck and darkness came down.

Sedreth dumped the naked ganger in a convenient cell; what had once been a crewman's quarters, long since stripped bare. He walked into the other room, where he'd left the other man. The body still lay there, breathing but otherwise unmoving. He chuckled softly.

"Up. I can tell when a man's truly unconscious." He reached, alert for trouble, for the man's leg, dodged a kick. The other rolled to his feet smoothly.

"Astartes? My apologies; my mission cannot be compromised."

"Apologies for what?"

"I regret that I am obliged to kill you."

Sedreth outright laughed, and beckoned the man in. "Feel free to try." The attack was fast and skilled; he blocked at about half-speed, enough to parry but enough too to hint at vulnerability to an all-out series. Which duly came. He gave ground, taking a heavy impact to his chest and flicking aside a suddenly extended blade.

"Ah," he said. "Callidus?"

"Close, marine. You're quite good. I regret the necessity for your death," answered the assassin, suddenly moving faster. Adrenal boost, thought Sedreth, slipping a thrust that would have crushed the throat of a lesser man. Interesting. He let himself get caught by a knee to the gut, and fell back again. The assassin leapt for the kill. He flicked the man aside, giving free rein to his full speed and strength and skill. Elbows and shoulders broke as his strikes went home, then the man was down and pinned.

"Not bad, boy. Not good enough, though," he said as he clamped down on the nerve nexus below the shoulder. The assassin slumped, unable to move. "Didn't think I knew about that, did you? Live and learn, assassin." He touched a different sedative – a highly illegal and very rare sedative – to the man's neck and his struggles ceased.

"Sara, you will want to stay out of sight for this one; he will not believe us Inquisitors."

She nodded, looking at the heavily secured man in the chair, and stepped to a position behind the prisoner. Sedreth brought the man round again.

"Good evening, assassin. My apologies, this time. You were better than I expected. However, with your enhanced metabolism, you will heal soon enough. I won't ask you who you're working for; that you're an Imperial agent is enough," he said. "Nor do I know or care what your mission is. If you hunt the Word Bearers or their agents on this world, be advised that I am doing likewise. Are you?"

There was a short silence, then the man spoke in a machine-like voice. "Negative. I was unaware of Word Bearer activity here."

"Very well. Does your mission preclude informing Imperial authorities of their presence?"

"Negative."

"I shall shortly release you, then, in order that you may do so. As I recall, the traitor Legions rate a priority 10 to the Imperium and agents thereof are obliged to inform either the Ordo Malleus or the nearest astartes chapter at earliest opportunity. Am I correct?"

"Affirmative."

"Very well. I shall teleport you to a suitably out of the way location; I don't need or want your interference. Those bastards are mine."

"Query: you will identify."

"I don't take your orders. I serve the Emperor and his Crusade, not the Imperium." He touched the control and the man vanished. Sedreth grinned at Sara. "Even he is going to take a while to get out of that."

"Where did you send him?"

"The middle of the mountain range on the third continent. I estimate he will be stuck there for about four to six hours before any transport can get to him; there's a fairly serious storm going on there right now."

"Will he be alright?"

"Oh, yes. He's a temple assassin. His body's enhanced to make him damned near impossible to kill."

She smiled slightly. "Like you, then?"

"Oh, I'm mortal enough. The question I have always avoided asking myself is am I still human enough." He winked and led her from the room.

Janey sat at her console, watching the monitors like Mr Morgan had taught her. The movements were very funny and she called out to him. "Mr Morgan, the trackers are moving funny."

He walked over, back in his massive armour again. He leant over. "What do you mean, Janey?"

She pointed. "See there? The tracker just sort of went sideways. What does that mean?"

He looked satisfied. "It means that our former guest has met other gang members and is having a disagreement about whether they should take him to this 'Reader' or not. He's trying to escape from them, I think."

"But why? Aren't they his friends?"

"Not really, Janey. That sort of hunter gang only respects strength and power. Since he no longer has either he's just another victim for them now. They'll want to take him just as he was going to take you, if we had let him."

"Oh. What about the other one? He keeps going very fast, then stopping for a bit then fast again."

"He is trying to make it to wherever he is going without being seen, Janey. He is running quickly from hiding place to hiding place, in case he also becomes a victim."

"Oh," she said. "I see now. Thanks , Mr Morgan."

He smiled faintly at her. "Janey, I want you to run the tacscan while I'm down there. Your mother is going to be v.."

"Right beside you," came mummy's voice from behind them. They looked round. Mummy was looking very stiff, the way she always did when really meant something. "They wanted to kill my daughter, Morgan. And I am not letting you go in there alone when I can help."

Mr Morgan looked at mummy with a funny face. "Sara, you are not trained for this. These are not gangland thugs, they are Word Bearers. Fully armed and armoured space marines with hundreds, at least, of years of experience in battle."

Mummy nodded. "I know. And you have only been training me for six months. But I'm still going. I can use Sister Agnetha's armour, and a flamer. No arguments, Morgan. I have to do this."

They looked at each other and finally he nodded. "Very well. Let's get you ready, then."

"Sara, you will need this," he said holding up a small silver device, worked and decorated with gilt.

"What is it?"

"A psi screen. It won't make you entirely immune to psykers, but it will more or less prevent them from invading your mind with illusions or compulsions, and help you to resist mind-affecting sorceries."

"Oh. Right. Thanks." She let him attach it to her armour just behind her neck. He stopped round in front of her again. "What about you?"

He stroked the great white pinion attached to his shoulder-plate. "The Angel's honour provides me with a similar protection."

She looked at him. "It was really his? Sanguinius?"

He nodded, with a faint smile. "Nervous?"

She nodded, mouth suddenly dry. He was right, she wasn't really ready for this. He smiled briefly, as if he read her thoughts. He turned her physically to face the mirrored wall. A white-armoured and black-cloaked woman looked back at her with cold brown eyes, a gold-embossed flamer in her hands and a heavy-looking sword at her hip. The gold of the Emperor's aquila shone bright on her left shoulder.

"Trust in the Emperor, Sara. Today you are a Sister of Battle. That is what they will see and react to. And they will be far more worried about me anyway. Show no mercy, for you will receive none, but hold pity in your heart. They were once noble warriors, before they fell to chaos. Are you ready?"

She nodded, swallowed. "Ready."

"Janey, bring tacscan online, please."

"Yes, Mr Morgan." There was a pause. "Tacscan linked and online."

She checked her readouts. "Affirm tactical link."

"Affirm tactical link. Teleport in fifteen seconds. For the Emperor."

"For the Emperor," came Janey's voice through the comlink. "Good luck, mummy. I love you."

"I love you too, sweetheart. Let's do this. For the Emperor." The teleport flared and they were gone.

Spiker grovelled before the black-armoured giant. "Please, master, I had to warn you. They killed everyone else in seconds. I swear it. It was a trap. Someone was hunting us."

"And you ran." The deep voice was accusing.

"Master, I could not fight, and win, and warn you. I had to run," he pleaded, from his knees, looking up hopefully at the Reader's chest.

"Your warning is noted. However, there is no excuse for cowardice. Prepare him."

"Nooo!" he screamed, as greedy hands grabbed him, dragging him towards the altar and the waiting knife. He writhed and struggled in the grip of half a dozen eager worshippers. There was a tinkle as something fell to the floor.

"Master," said Caddie, as she picked it up. "Look."

The Reader took it from her sweaty palm. "So," he boomed. "Not a coward so much as a traitor." He crushed the device in an armoured gauntlet. "You shall learn what the true price of betrayal is, little man. I shall make an example of you. Strip him and chain him down."

They hurried to obey, eyes cold and angry and eager to see his pain. Caddie, pretty Caddie who he'd wanted for so long, spat in his face. "Traitor," she said, contempt and hatred in her blue eyes.

The Reader stepped up and gently moved her aside. "Take your place, sister. It is time this creature learnt what happens to the treacherous and forsworn." He raised his hands, the great glowing staff in his left one, and began to chant, a different, more cruel chant than the usual. Spiker screamed in terror and shat himself as purple lightnings started to spark from the four-headed image above the blood-stained octagonal slab.

Shiv watched in horror, unable to move against the massive armoured grip on his shoulders, as Spiker's body started to glow and writhe. The man's screams rose higher and louder, almost drowning out the chant from the Reader's ominous form. Oh, Emperor, forgive me. He shuddered in utter terror as the helpless man's body began to change, twisting and turning and screaming all the while.

Sara looked at Sedreth as they slipped closer to the mostly closed double doors. A light, purple and ominous, flickered inside it. There was a sentry, but she was distracted from her duties by whatever was happening inside; she never even felt Morgan's precise blow that snapped her neck. They slipped inside. By the Throne, what was that?

"Sedreth, what is that?" she murmured.

"Punishment ritual. The man on the altar is becoming a chaos spawn. A thing, mindless and twisted, to gibber its misery and pain for all eternity." His answer was equally soft.

"No-one deserves that, Morgan."

He nodded. "Flame the altar. Charge hard and fast; I will give you initial covering fire, then close with the guards. Try and make sure you envelop the marine in black; he is the most dangerous of the three."

She nodded and took a deep breath, then broke into a run. "For the Emperor!" She pressed the firing stud and a whoosh of white-hot promethium enveloped the rapt congregation in front of her; they screamed in pain, dived for non-existent cover amongst already-burning wooden benches and she leapt past, sending a second gout of flame over the altar and setting its elaborate hangings on fire. She tried not to think about burning the sacrificed man alive. It was kinder than what would have happened to him.

Tolus cursed as the Sister appeared from nowhere, and ducked aside as she sent a gout of promethium in his direction. He glanced at his tacdisplay. "Just the single Sister of Battle, brother chaplain. We shall deal with her." He raised his bolter and opened fire even as she enveloped altar, congregation, and chaplain alike in burning promethium. Bitch. Bolts impacted her armour and bounced and he cursed a second time.

"For the Emperor!" That wasn't a Sister of Battle. He swung to engage the new enemy as bolter fire slammed into his chest and his armour red-lighted. His vision blurred.

Sedreth sent a burst into the chest of one of the Word Bearer guards, dropping him, then swung his fire across the second man who flung himself aside, bringing up his own bolter to bear on the new threat and ignoring Sara. Good. He sent a burst at the man, who rolled and came up firing. Sedreth slid into a firing stance, trusting in his armour, and laid down a line of fire into the other marine's position, smashing metal, stone and ceramite armour with adamantium-cored explosive death. Bolts came back, pinging off his armour, but the other marine was forced from his bolt-hole and had to duck to avoid a sweeping burst of promethium from Sara's weapon.

"Keep on the chaplain, Sara."

"I'm trying, damn it."

He risked a glance aside, and saw the black-armoured chaplain holding his staff before him as he advanced through the blazing heat. Bugger; a proper sorcerer. He snarled in fury and emptied the magazine into the lower half of his other opponent, reloading in a single motion with barely a pause in fire. The man staggered up on his unsmashed knee to send an accurate reply and his armour red-lighted as bolts slammed into the shoulder-plate.

"Mr Morgan, I have teleport signatures incoming."

"Affirmative. What's the location, Janey?" he said, still firing at the downed Word Bearer. Die, you bastard.

"Uhm, I can't tell. It's too confusing." The young voice sounded on the edge of panic.

Sara's voice sounded over the comlink. "Janey, just read them off, like the game." She was backing off, still sending burning promethium at the chaplain as he advanced steadily towards her, apparently unharmed despite Morgan's own external temperature readouts moving into the danger level. The flamer guttered, starting to run low.

"Uhm, sector gamma-six-beta, Mr Morgan."

"Affirmed, Janey." To his left and rear. He dived backwards, flinging a pair of krak grenades at the general area just as the bright light of a teleport heralded more company. Sara flung her flamer at the materialising warriors and it exploded amongst them with a satisfying roar. Two of the incoming eight fell instantly, not even aware of what had killed them. His grenades exploded just where half the squad had dived for cover and a helmet, missing a body, bounced down the stone tiers. He grinned savagely as his first opponent finally fell and lay still.

Sara cursed and drew her bolter, firing off a burst of fire at the oncoming sorcerer in the same action. He raised his hand and the explosive rounds bounced from the sorcerous energy field. She dropped her bolter, stepped back, and drew her powersword.

"All right, you son of a bitch. Let's see how good you are."

He laughed, cold and cruel, and spun his glowing staff in his hand, taking a defensive stance. They circled; she flicked a feint, he wasn't drawn and parried the follow-up skilfully.

"I have faced better, Sister. Not long out of novitiate, are you?" The deep voice was mocking and she launched a standard attack pattern, the field of her weapon sparking off his. The world shrank to just the two of them as he attacked, the staff incredibly fast. It was all she could do to meet the sequence, and she knew she couldn't win this. He moved confidently, turning her, backing her up towards the altar despite her best efforts. Lord Emperor, if we truly do your will, give me grace this day.

Sedreth launched himself into the remaining marines, chainsword a blur of motion. One, clearly hurt from one of the explosions, was slower than the others; not for long, as he fell, cut almost in half by a precise cut. Mark III armour had its weaker spots, if the wearer was unable to defend properly. He parried an attack from his left and riposted with a combat blade to the eye, killing the man, but losing the blade. Bugger.

One of the others leapt back, a heavy bolter in his hands. Clear of the sword-fight, the warrior took a firing stance, but did not open up, luckily. Better keep it close and keep his friends between me and him. He slid to his left, drawing the remaining two with him.

Janey watched on the tacscan monitor. Mr Morgan was close to two enemies, one was standing apparently doing nothing but watch, and mummy was being backed up by the last enemy. Mummy and Mr Morgan must be fighting with their swords to be that close. She bit her lip. Mummy wasn't very experienced with that. She carefully locked in the co-ordinates of the single marine, whose icon said he had a heavy bolter now. Mr Morgan had sent that data. Janey ran from the bridge, heading for the armoury as fast as she could.

Chaplain Rasdiel bellowed a battle-cry, "Death to the corpse Emperor!", and laughed as he started the sacrificial chant, driving the woman slowly, step by step, towards the altar. She would be a fine sacrifice.

Brother Aslet chuckled as the chant began. Stylish, brother chaplain, he thought. One of the congregation was crawling towards the abandoned bolter. Good. A worthy recruit, perhaps. He returned his attention to the purple-armoured marine, wondering who he was to wear the Emperor's Children Imperial colours. Lorgar's balls, but the man was good. He'd already killed six marines, two of them hand-to-hand at odds and he was still forcing his remaining opponents, sergeant Bilius and brother Vantel, backwards single-handed. Aslet took a couple of steps backwards, not wanting to get too close to the blades; in the unlikely event that the enemy marine killed his opponents he wanted a clear field of fire. The new position gave him a poor angle though, and he returned to his old one, where he had a clear field to the altar too. The chant rose towards a climax.

Shiv watched in awe as the woman attacked. He recognised her, of course; he was never going to forget that face. A real Sister of Battle. Angie had always wanted be a Sister, before the plague had come and killed her. He remembered his little sister's tiny body in the small cheap coffin. A tear ran down his face. What had he made of his life? He watched horrified as she was forced backwards by the Reader. Looking round, he spotted the abandoned bolter. Well, if his life had been a failure, at least his death would mean something. He crawled determinedly towards it, ignoring the pain of his broken shoulder.

Sara felt the solid stone of the altar against her leg as she backed up again.

The chanting marine laughed and bellowed a phrase in some horrific language. Then there was was a roar of bolter fire. The man staggered, shot in the back, and she lunged with desperate strength.

Rasdiel bellowed in pain and anger as bolts slammed through his armour from behind, tearing the flesh of his legs and pelvis. He instinctively half-swung round, reacting too slowly as the Sister in front of him took her last chance. The glowing blade drove deep into his chest, severing his spine. Pain erupted in his fevered brain, then there was nothing.

Astel cursed, sending a burst into the treacherous cur and ripping him into pieces. He swung round in time to see the blue-lightings of the Sister's powersword erupting from brother-chaplain Rasdiel's chest and raised his massive boltgun. He barely had time to be aware of the flare of light beneath him before a belt of grenades blew his legs clean off. He shook his head and tried to raise his weapon again; something white blurred his vision then there was a crunching sound. Brother Astel's last sight in life was the arcing of his helmet systems shorting out against the energy field of the heavy powersword as it smashed through his visor.

Sedreth ripped his blade upwards, severing armour power lines, thigh muscles and arteries alike in a single blow. The marine dropped his weapon as he collapsed, left leg half-severed. Sedreth stamped down hard on the wounded man's helmet before he could recover, caving it in along with his head.

Sergeant Bilius swore as his last brother fell. His armour was red-lighted all over and he was bleeding from half a dozen minor wounds. He roared his fury and lunged; the Word Bearers _would_ be victorious. Something slammed into his neck and there was only darkness.

Caddie hid desperately beneath the charred and burnt corpses. She remembered what the Reader had done to Spiker and bit back vomit. Whatever he'd done, no-one deserved that. And that was a Sister of Battle, a real one. The Reader had lied. "Death to the corpse Emperor" he'd said. That meant he was an enemy of the Imperium, a follower of heretics; that was what she had become also.

She lay very still, hoping no-one would notice her still alive.

"You are unhurt, Sara?"

"Yes. A few bruises, but nothing more serious." She looked at the torn and bloody remains of the man they'd questioned. "He saved my life."

"Indeed he did. It is for a man to find his own path to redemption, whatever he may have done. I am grateful that he found his when he did."

She nodded. "So am I. What now?"

"Now, we cleanse this place. Janey, have you lock?"

"Yes, Mr Morgan."

"Good. Send down two full flame units, please."

"Yes, Mr Morgan. It'll be about five minutes; they're heavy."

"That's fine, Janey. Do not drop the cloak, understand? There may be more of them around; that squad had to teleport in from somewhere."

"Yes, Mr Morgan. Out."

He clicked off the comlink, and walked over to the Word Bearer corpses, beheading each in turn. Sara's eyes met his and she nodded; take no chances with creatures like this. She retrieved her bolter and loaded a fresh magazine.

There was a flare of light and two flame units appeared. They took one each and began to systematically burn the altar area, then each of the headless chaos marine corpses, turning weapons and armour into slag in case any taint might remain for some innocent to pick up. As they turned towards the piles of dead worshippers there was a terrified scream. A woman scrambled out from the pile of bodies, unhurt and holding her hands wide.

"Please. Don't kill me."

"A clean death is better than you deserve, scum." Sedreth's voice was even deeper than normal behind his helmet speakers.

"Please. We didn't know. Please." She was on her knees, tears streaming down her face, utter terror in her expression.

Sara fought back sympathy. Then it came to her. "You worshipped at the altar of chaos, woman. You thought to gain power from the Emperor, and fell to the powers of ruin in your desire for it. Why should you live?"

"Please, I didn't know. I thought, we thought, we'd been chosen to serve the Emperor."

Sara gave her coldest smile. "You have. By me. You will go from this place, and offer yourself and your life in penance for your sins. Go to the nearest church; you are unfit to enter holy orders, but the Emperor, in His Grace and eternal wisdom, may find you worthy of service in some other way. Give a full confession, child, and if you are ordered to die for your sins, then you will die with a clean heart. That is all the mercy you deserve." She flipped a hand in dismissal and the woman fled, flinging her gang jacket aside with an expression of pure horror. She did not look back.

Their eyes met. "That was merciful, Sara. It may come back to haunt you, one day."

"I know. But one of them redeemed himself and saved my life; perhaps she can save her own soul."

He nodded and turned his flamer on the corpses, reducing them swiftly to ashes.

"Janey, we will need a demolition charge to bring down the idol. You will find one in the armoury; a square box, about a metre on each side, grey metal with black and red striping on the edges. You will need to use the little transporter; it is too heavy for you to move."

"Yes, Mr Morgan."

It was several minutes before the teleport light flared again and the charge appeared. Sedreth lifted it easily and carried it over.

"Will one be enough?" asked Sara.

"More than enough. Two would bring down the spire," he said, firing a pair of long metal bolts into the four-faced statue, and lifting the charge up to it. "This is a shaped charge, it will direct most of the force directly under the neck, shattering that thing. But the back-blast will turn everything else in here to scrap, and if not for the walls, remove most of the surroundings for a hundred metres in every direction. It is the best we can do."

She nodded. The comlink clicked open again.

"Mr Morgan. Uhm, there are people coming. Lots of people. Near the door you came in by."

"Very well. We shall deal with that. Out."

The comlink clicked off.

"I suppose we had better go and see who our visitors are." He smiled briefly and they walked together towards the rusty doors.

A few ragged-looking citizens were cautiously approaching the half-open entrance. They stopped as Sara came into view and gasped as Sedreth's armoured form joined her.

"What are you doing here, citizens?" Sara kept her voice calm; they would see what they expected to see.

They looked at each other hesitantly, then a middle-aged woman in a worn cloak spoke. "We came to see what the noise was, Sister."

"A likely story. You came to see your 'Reader', did you not?"

A few nods, a murmur or two.

Sara gave a cold smile. "He is dead, luckily for you. As are his companions, traitor heretics who followed the Arch-heretic Horus into damnation, all of them." She looked round at the expressions of disbelief. "What? You think I am mistaken? That I would not know a true servant of the Emperor? Did those scum bear His aquila?" She touched her shoulder-plate. "You were duped, citizens, tricked by evil powers. And this place is being cleansed. There will be no further worship of chaos here. Nor of anything else."

Sedreth spoke, his voice pitched to carry. "Sister, the charges are set. Detonation in four minutes. It is time to leave."

She nodded. "Very well. Sister Jane, teleport us out."

"Yes, mummy," came the soft voice in her ear, too quiet for anyone else to hear. The teleport activated again and they left the crowd to its own devices.

Janey leapt into her mother's arms, tears streaming down her face. "Mummy! I was so scared, mummy. I thought you were going to die."

"I know, darling. So was I. But we're still alive, still here. I'll not leave you, Janey. Not now, not ever," she replied, holding her precious daughter close. The small face buried itself in her neck.

A large armoured gauntlet clapped her lightly on the shoulder.

"You did well, Sara. As did you, little one. Come, you will need to eat, both of you. I speak from experience; the body needs sustenance after combat."

Janey's head lifted. "Even yours?"

"Even mine. And while we eat you can explain how managed to teleport in and out so quickly and accurately, young lady. Even I do not have control that fine."

Janey blushed. "Yes, Mr Morgan."

Sara looked at her daughter as she carried her through to the galley/kitchen area. "You teleported in?"

A faint nod. "Is Mr Morgan mad at me?"

Sara looked more closely, meeting big, brown, guileless eyes. "If he is, he's not half as mad at you as I am. Darling, you could have been killed."

"I was scared, mummy. I thought the bad man with the heavy bolter was going to shoot you," said her daughter tremulously.

Sedreth's voice came from up ahead. "He was. I am not angry with you, Janey. But I do want to know what you did and how you did it."

They went through; he was pulling things out of lockers, packets and cartons that he did not usually touch.

"What are you doing?"

He looked at them. "I am preparing the calorific, mineral and vitamin supplements best suited for astartes marines. I do not recommend you eat them however; they are healthy, but tasteless, stodge for the most part. For some reason whoever first designed them seemed to think – wrongly – that marines have no sense or care for taste and texture."

Sara looked at him. "There's plenty stew in the pot there."

"Indeed. Enough for three normal people. I am not normal, however. I shall, if you don't mind, have my stew after I have eaten this. It will be a pleasant finish."

Janey giggled and let her put her down. "Why aren't you normal, Mr Morgan?"

"I am astartes, Janey. I weigh more than six hundred and fifty standard kilos; I am almost three metres tall. I have enhancements to my physique that enable me to do what ordinary warriors cannot do. And to sustain that physique, I need to eat, quite a lot."

He smiled slightly and gestured them to the long table. Janey jumped up onto the double bench and chair that enabled her to reach the polished surface. Sara took her own seat, the astartes-sized furniture leaving her feet dangling above the floor like a small child despite the bulk of her armour. Sedreth noted her slight discomfort and a flicker of a smile passed his features.

"We shall have to get more appropriate furniture for you two. There should be some somewhere."

She looked at him curiously. "You don't know?"

He shook his head slightly – the equivalent of a vigorous negative for a lesser man. "Most of the ship was effectively mothballed tens of centuries ago. We automated her following the Siege, and once the last of our techmarines died – about five hundred years later, I think – no-one went down there. Only the bridge and the immediate vicinity has been inhabited for at least thirty centuries. And given what could have got aboard while we were based in the Eye, no-one cared to look at the rest, trusting in the ship's machine spirit to maintain itself while we travelled from one combat to another."

Sara looked doubtful. "That seems very dangerous."

"It would have been, had any of us cared. You forget what we were, Sara. We were Emperor's Children marines. The favour of the Legion's chaos patron would protect us from the vagaries of the warp, and beyond that our interests lay in battle. In war and destruction."

Janey suddenly looked serious. "Mr Morgan, did you ever hurt children?"

"Yes. Usually as a corollary to combat, but occasionally deliberately. Our patron enjoys suffering, and the suffering of the innocent most of all. Some of us became expert torturers, and all of us were skilled at inflicting pain – and pleasure. There can come a point where the body, the mind, cannot tell the difference. Some of the Legion have long since reached that point; they exist only for the sensation, and are raised to heights of ecstasy by injury, the more serious the better."

Janey looked scared and took the bowl of stew quietly. Then she spoke again.

"Mr Morgan, what happened to all the people near the temple today?"

"Janey, I do not know. If they were sensible, they ran. If they were not sensible, and stayed, the demolition charges we set will have killed them. No human could survive an explosion of that power. But they were given warning of the detonation. It is their choice, not ours."

"It's still our fault," she said stubbornly.

"In one way, yes. But we could not have left the Word Bearers to work their evil. Had we not acted to stop them, they would have corrupted the entire spire, and possibly the world. In such a case, the Imperium would have been bound to order an Exterminatus."

"A what?"

"An Exterminatus, Sara. The Imperium would have wiped out all life on the planet, either by orbital bombardment or by use of a bioweapon like the life-eater virus. Once a planet is truly corrupted, the Imperium knows little alternative. Milliards of innocents would have died along with the guilty. By our actions, the Word Bearers were forestalled and the Imperium alerted; the Inquisition will no doubt hot-foot a powerful team here, to investigate and cut out any remaining taint, but I hope they will be able to do so with limited impact, rather than wholesale slaughter."

"That's horrible."

"Yes, it is. And it is rare, thankfully. But it is not by any means unheard of. Isstvan III was not the first planet to be so treated, and many, perhaps many hundreds, have been likewise destroyed since, including all the homeworlds of the traitor Legions. The ruinous powers care nothing for the lives of their pawns, and when planets are infested beyond re-conquest by chaos, by genestealers or tyranids, even occasionally by orks, the Imperium is not unwilling to use such ultimate force to prevent the spread of the enemy. That it is self-defeating in the long run has not yet occurred to the Council of Terra."

Janey looked quite pale. A single tear ran down her cheek. "I thought the Emperor was there to protect us."

"Janey, the Emperor I knew would not have authorised much, probably most, of the administrative and ecclesiarchical actions of the Imperium. He wished to re-unite humanity, that it be safe and secure amongst the stars, to walk the galaxy unafraid. His fall, and the loss of his sons Sanguinius and Ferrus Manus – amongst the wisest of the Primarchs – allowed the more fanatical adherents of the Imperial cult to gradually take over. Following the Heresy, the remaining loyal Primarchs vanished from knowledge; there was nothing to counter the religious orthodoxy that the Emperor was a God. And we have seen today how easily such belief can be corrupted. The Emperor does not take away free will, nor does He absolve us of responsibility for our own actions. Though we place our trust in Him, He still expects us to carry bolters."

She smiled slightly at the last sentence. He nodded briefly.

"Trust in the Emperor. But do not forget that the Emperor and the Imperium are not the same thing."

Sara looked at him. "That's very close to heresy."

He laughed aloud. "Sara, it _is_ heresy, in some quarters. It is heresy to question; heresy to do other than obey blindly. In many respects it is heresy to be truly human, to love and hate, to feel pleasure or resist hurt, to enjoy a good meal or feel pride in your own accomplishment. I warned you, remember. I serve the Emperor as best I can. If in doing so I provide assistance to the Imperium it is incidental. I personally would not hesitate to kill an Inquisitor, an Imperial officer, even a member of the High Council itself, if it interfered with what I must do."

"Even another astartes?"

He paused. "I hope it will be a long time before I have to make that decision. Astartes marines know the Emperor as other than a God to be worshipped, for they still have memory, records, of Him as a Man, a general who led them into battle."

Sara looked quietly up at the huge marine, sadness filling her that such a man should have fallen into corruption. She put out a hand and covered his huge armoured paw.

"The Emperor protects, Sedreth. He will forgive you and you shall redeem yourself for your sins."

He met her eyes with sardonic humour. "I hope so, Sara. There is a lot to forgive and redeem."


	5. Chapter Four

Chapter Four

Sedreth moved swiftly through the combat sequence. He was not wearing armour, though he often practised in it. Today was a day for un-armoured practice; as was every second day. He slid into the standard sixth sequence, moving rapidly and confidently. Sitting on her usual bench, holding her worn stuffed bear, Janey watched him.

She had been a constant presence at weapons practice since the episode with the Word Bearers; he had even taken her through the basics he was teaching her mother. Sedreth was unsure why he was teaching them. They were female; would never have the speed, strength or stamina of an astartes marine. But it felt right. Sara Smitsen – Sara Tarken now, since he had arranged a false identity for her via a series of old, old cut-out contacts in the Administratum – and her daughter were important, although he did not know why.

For her part Sara had told him that the training felt less like something new, than like old skills being relearned, taken up again now that there was need. It scared her, she admitted. It scared him too, knowing too well what the chaos powers were capable of. And she learned fast, far faster than he had any right to expect.

Janey, too, now he came to think about it, had an incredible appetite for knowledge, soaking up lessons like a sponge. She was already competent with the scan system, for all that she was still a seven-year-old, with a child's grasp of literacy. Her understanding of the symbolism on tacscan was almost instinctive; like her mother, as if skills once set aside were simply being re-taken. As for that teleport, she could use it better than he.

He finished the sequence, sweat dripping off him, and bowed to the Legion banner – the codex banner, taken from where it had hung untouched in a secondary armoury on the control tower's lower levels. He thought back to the day they'd explored that small portion of the ancient vessel.

"Mr Morgan, where are you going?"

"I thought I should re-visit parts of the ship I have not. Would you care to come along?"

"Can I ride the transporter?"

"Yes, if you wish."

They had ridden the lift down together; he had been armed and armoured, just in case, but had not truly expected trouble. And there had been none. Just the endless corridors, still and quiet under a thick coating of dust, untouched in eons. The lights, coming up automatically in reaction to his presence, had shown the missing spaces where the two-headed aquila had once hung embossed opposite the Legion's still gleaming winged talon. The original winged talon, he had noted, still bright after all this time; the aquilas must have been removed after the Rebellion, but before the Legion has evolved its insignia to be more feral. They'd moved from room to room, finding empty shelves where once there had been libraries, bare chambers silent and still, and then the secondary armoury and repair shop.

It was there that they'd found them. Marks IV, V and VI armour, twenty-six untouched and dust-covered suits in codex purple and gold. He'd traced the names on the shoulder-plates, remembering faces, the dead of the Legion, casualties of Murder. Beyond the massive, dusty, and otherwise empty, room, there had been dozens more, scarred and broken, set on stands to await a repair that had never come. He remembered then how the Century had been brought up to strength with survivors from other units, marines who had already had their own armour and weapons. The techmarines, all but Skeller, had died on Isstvan III. Skeller himself had died in a nameless battle against the World Eaters of Khorne, and since then this room had been left, with no-one caring to repair the armour of the fallen. Or perhaps no-one even realising, as he had not, that this was here, reminder of all they had once been.

He had almost wept at the futility, the stupidity of his brothers, pawns to be played by an uncaring power in some game they couldn't even conceive of. And he had, impulsive, re-powered the automatic maintenance systems. That corridor, all the control tower corridors and rooms, shone now, the ages of dust swept away is if they had never been. It gave him little ease, was still too deep a wound to be comfortable. He had not dared the ancient chapel, not wishing to see it desecrated, and almost less keen to find it untouched. That section of the control tower remained unexplored, the body of the ship, likewise. He had a horrible idea what he'd find, and had no wish to face again the ghosts of memories past. Not, at least, until he had done something worthy of the Legion, of Tarvitz and Demeter and all the rest.

He watched as Janey stepped up and copied his bow and salute precisely. She rarely spoke during these times, just watching, a silent reminder of what he should be. Strangely, it was almost comforting to know he had something yet to aspire to beyond a violent death. What that something was he had no idea, yet, but he could feel it, like an onrushing wave. He walked into the shower, leaving her to her own devices for the small time it would take to cleanse his body of sweat and grime.

They walked together to the lift, took it the three floors up to the bridge where Sara was on watch. They were in warp transit, the Geller fields online, and his adult student was not merely monitoring, but also working through the exercises he had set her at the pilot's station. She had fought half a dozen minor skirmishes beside him now, and her left cheek bore a faint scar courtesy of an ork blade snapping off when parried, but her natural talents really lay elsewhere, on a starship bridge. She had used scan, nav, gunnery, as well as flight, but it was as a pilot that she showed true aptitude and he was not so arrogant of his own skills in that area as to deny hers. Who would have thought that a settler's wife could be so talented?

"How are you doing?"

"I'm reworking my errors," came the distracted reply.

"Errors? How many did you make?"

"Two. The calibration of the insystem drives, and the timing of the third course change."

"Mmm. How far were you out?"

"Point six three percent on the drives and three point two seconds, mostly because of the drive calibration. But I think my solution is more optimal than the one in the exercise; that's what I'm checking."

He hid a smile. She was a natural, and a perfectionist. He wasn't going to tell her that getting within five percent would be a pass for a veteran Navy pilot in advanced training.

He took his normal station: weapons tactical and aux scan/comms. It was definitely a lot easier with more than one person on the bridge, he mused. A light blinked. He looked round.

"Janey, did you do anything?"

"No, Mr Morgan. It just came on. Incoming comms signal. Imperial frequencies – sorry, space marine frequencies."

"Put it through the speaker, Janey," he said.

The signal was distorted by distance and the warp, hissing and static almost breaking it up. ".._urance_. Code 917. Any astartes vessel, respond. Repeat this is Black Templars strike cruiser _Righteous Endurance_. We request assistance under emergency protocol 917."

He took the mike, grateful for the long-hacked Imperial protocols available, and answered. "This is _Eyes of the Phoenix_, responding to your emergency call, _Righteous Endurance_. Are you receiving?"

Nothing.

"Janey, boost our signal to max and tighten it to audio only."

Small fingers switched buttons confidently. "Ready, Mr Morgan."

"This is brother-sergeant Morgan aboard rogue trader vessel _Eyes of the Phoenix_, responding to your emergency call, _Righteous Endurance_. We are sending audio only to ensure reception. Are you receiving?"

"_Eyes of the Phoenix_, we are receiving you in the Emperor's name. This is captain Matisse, 4th company Black Templars. Request confirmation of your identity, code 547."

"Transmitting now, brother-captain." He hit the keys in question. "How can we assist?"

"Code received and affirmed, brother-sergeant. We are engaged with a spur of tyranid hive fleet Behemoth in the Caltenis system. Transmitting tactical schematic. Three ships lost, two crippled. We cannot hold the accursed xenos much longer; we require additional transports to assist in system evacuation. How quickly can you get here?"

"Calculating now, brother-captain." He looked at Sara, already busy at the navcomp.

She looked at him, stricken. "Sixteen hours at max, Sedreth. Assuming we don't get lost in the warp with the change of direction."

He nodded. "Brother-captain, our eta is sixteen hours and seven minutes. Altering course to your location, by the Emperor's Grace."

The deep voice came back. "Acknowledged, _Eyes of the Phoenix_. Be advised system is extremely hostile. We shall remain engaged as long as possible, in the Emperor's name."

"In His glorious name, brother-captain, _Eyes of the Phoenix_ out."

Sara was already bringing the drives up to full power. "You realise that every warp entity for a hundred parsecs will be drawn to us like a moth to a flame?"

He shrugged. "The old lady will keep us safe. We have no options, Sara."

She nodded. "Course laid in."

Even through the compensators he felt the acceleration as the ship moved through the immaterium like a sharp knife. He grinned tightly. "Janey, we will need to be well-rested and fed. Can you go to the kitchen and start on the evening meal? Once we have eaten, you and your mother can get a few hours of sleep."

"Yes, Mr Morgan. Are we going to rescue them?"

"Black Templars don't usually need rescuing. I hope we are in time," he said grimly. "Sara, I want you to send an update on automatic every hour until we're two hours out. By that time you'll be awake again and we can fine tune the precise eta."

She nodded as Janey disappeared into the corridor.

Brother-Captain Matisse looked at the comm officer. "Monitor that channel. I want to know about any change in eta."

"Yes, sir," said the woman. Matisse turned and headed for the astartes decks. Three ships lost out of seven. The Chapter could not afford much more. He tongued his comlink.

"Brother-sergeant Thesiel, have we any record of a trader-vessel named _Eyes of the Phoenix_ and if so, under what astartes chapter is it currently operating?"

The answer was not long in coming. "Negative, brother-captain. The only record of a ship by that name was an astartes strike destroyer, lost towards the end of the Great Crusade, or perhaps during the accursed Heresy. That ship was registered to the Third Legio Astartes."

Emperor's Children? Hardly the most likely rescuers; if the ship appeared at all – sixteen hours in the warp at max was risky to put it mildly – he somehow doubted those Emperor-cursed heretics would deliberately get involved in a fight with tyranids. Not to mention that the protocol was up to date. "What in the Emperor's name is a strike destroyer?"

"Obsolete type, brother-captain. Since superseded by strike cruisers. I don't have data on any armament, although there is still one of the same class registered to the Raven Guard, so I would suggest it retains some viability."

Matisse nodded absently as he went up in the lift. Thesiel was waiting for him when he got out.

"Anything else?"

"No, brother-captain. No other ships have responded as yet; the accursed xenos put out a psychic dampening which makes it difficult for transmissions to get through."

He clicked off and looked enquiringly at the grey-haired sergeant in his black armour.

"Squads one through seven are prepared for the planned boarding action, sir."

"Very well. Have we full tactical assimilation?"

"Yes, brother-captain."

"Then launch when we are within range. We have to slow those thrice-cursed monsters down somehow."

"By your command, brother-captain."

"What are you doing, Sedreth?"

"I'm powering up the ship's chapel, Sara. I checked; it's untouched. We may need it available if we have Black Templars as guests."

"Why?"

"So that they don't shoot us on sight."

"Oh. Oh, I see." She took her seat at the pilot's station and began plotting course options.

Matisse watched as the tyranid vessel exploded. A glorious victory under other circumstances, but today the cost was too high. Only two squads had managed to 'port out. A second such action was unlikely to be successful. _Implacable_ was running low on ammunition and would have to pull back to provide lance support only. He cursed quietly. They were losing – would, according to the best tactical model he could calculate, be defeated within another twelve hours – but they couldn't pull out while an inhabited planet, even just a small mining colony like this one, was being evacuated. He would not live with the stain on the chapter's honour; better to fight to the last than run and leave helpless civilians to be wiped out by the xenos.

"Captain, how long until evacuation is complete?"

"Sir, a full evacuation will be another thirty hours, at least. The governor is refusing to leave; he demands the right to stay and command the defences."

Matisse nodded. "Tell him the Black Templars are honoured by his courage. Inform him also that he is to evacuate children and young mothers only with immediate effect. All other citizens are to stand and defend. We shall hold this system to the last."

"By your command and the Emperor's Will." The link clicked off. Matisse gave a cold, hard smile as another freighter went to warp with its precious cargo of refugees. Another few thousand or so saved to serve the Emperor. He returned his attention to the tactical display which was starting to look grim indeed.

"This is _Eyes of the Phoenix_ to _Righteous Endurance_. Our eta now twenty-seven minutes. Request tactical update."

"This is brother-captain Abdiel aboard strike cruiser _Implacable_. _Righteous Endurance _detonated her engines eight minutes ago. We are the last Imperial ship in the system. Colony Caltenis Prime is now cut off by tyranids and engaging invading xenos. They indicate that they cannot hold for more than another half hour; there is no possibility of approaching to evacuate remaining personnel. Governor S'katenet has ordered a power systems overload. The blast radius will be approximately twenty thousand kilometres and should eliminate all xenos on-planet. Estimated time to detonation, fourteen minutes. _Implacable_ is crippled and we are engaging xenos forces on decks seven through twenty. Sending final missive from Governor S'katenet for your onward transport. No evacuation from this vessel will be possible. I am transmitting a full battle report for your onward transportation. _Eyes of the Phoenix__**,**_ you are ordered to disengage and report to the fleet main base and Lord Commander Calgar at Macragge."

"This is _Eyes of the Phoenix_. Acknowledge your transmission. Negative the change of course. We have sufficient shielding and firepower to make one pass, and the course for Macragge already laid into our nav computers. We shall attempt long-range evacuation by teleport. Initiate teleport signal boost on our mark. By the Grace of the Emperor, we shall succeed. _Phoenix_ out."

"Brother-captain, they just cut transmission."

Abdiel, a tall, scar-faced warrior with cold eyes, nodded. "They better be right about their shielding and fire-power; those messages must get through to the Ultramarines. Pull as many of our warriors back as we dare; we shall set up a defensive perimeter on this deck. Brother Andus, can you engage engine detonation sequence?"

The techmarine shook his head. "Negative, brother-captain. The ship's systems are too damaged. However, I may be able to engage them by patching in my own equipment."

Abdiel met his brother's calm gaze. "That will mean you cannot leave the ship, correct?"

"Correct, brother-captain. But I will need to patch in personally in order to clean the teleport signal in any case."

Abdiel nodded slowly. "Very well. Do it. We shall cover you as long we can."

The techmarine gave an immaculate salute and gently moved engineering officer Mar'kel aside, extending his own implanted tech probes to interface directly with the ship's machine spirit.

Captain Est'l'herth gave a cool but controlled look as his crewmen were moved aside. Abdiel met the man's gaze with a fractional nod of approval. He was worthy of a captaincy, this man. "Brother-captain, what are your orders for the bridge crew?"

"Weapons officers to keep all weapons firing as best you can; the rest, barring you," he indicated the comm officer, who nodded, "take up defensive positions for interior combat."

"For the Emperor, brother-captain." The bridge crew drew their side-arms with grim determination.

"Janey, this is the control for the starboard battery. It's just like the game you play of shooting blobs, alright? The trigger is here, and the indicator moves as you move the control, understand?"

"Uhm yes, Mr Morgan. It's a bit stiff though."

"Try now."

"That's better."

"Good. Bringing shields to max. All weapons systems online. Lances charging. Sara, you have the lances; they're old and need replacement parts which we don't have. You have one full-power shot, so make the most of it. You probably won't get another. Janey, when I tell you, lock in the teleport and grab as many signals as you can, alright?"

"Yes, Mr Morgan." She sounded nervous. As well, he considered, she might. This was not a place for a seven-year-old. Even a seven-year-old who'd blown the legs off a Word Bearer. He gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile and took his seat, bringing the other batteries to readiness and loading the tactical report they'd just received.

"Exiting warp in ten seconds," said Sara. She spoke into comm. "This is _Eyes of the Phoenix_. ETA immediate. The Emperor's Grace on you."

Emperor's teeth but that was a big trader-ship, thought Abdiel as the warp-gate opened. Comm officer Lamoten was already speaking.

"_Eyes of the Phoenix_, this is _Implacable_. Our engines are set for detonation in four minutes and counting. We are engaging xenos on the command deck. Your window for teleport in two minutes and forty seconds; thirty-second window."

A woman's voice came back. "Acknowledged, _Implacable_. The Emperor protects. Main lances will clear a space for teleport in two minutes and fifty seconds. Please bring your signal boost online at that time."

Lamoten looked briefly at him, and he nodded to Andus who gave a sharp nod. "It will be close, brother-captain."

Abdiel shrugged inside his armour, turning back to the main doors in time to see them burst inwards. Brother Lieth jumped into the gap, his assault cannon thundering defiance. Abdiel opened fire, trying to keep the onrushing horde from their last Terminator. Beside him the bridge officers and crew stood in a firing line, sending volleys of las-pistol fire down the corridor, and his last two astartes bellowed battle cries as they added full automatic bolter fire to the fury of combat.

Behind him Lamoten spoke, her voice somehow remaining calm and controlled. "One minute to window. _Eyes of the Phoenix_ is engaging xenos spores."

"For the Emperor!" bellowed Abdiel, switching his own bolter to full auto. A monstrous form lunged at him from the middle of the mass and he drew his powersword one-handed, meeting its charge without hesitation.

Sara pressed the fire control and a beam of focussed energy ripped a wide hole in the surrounding spores. "Teleport now, Janey."

Janey nodded, dropping the fire control and focussing on her more important task. Sedreth switched the battery control to his own station, laying down the heaviest fire he could.

"_Implacable_, teleporting now."

"Mr Morgan, I think I got them, but I think I got a tyrrienid too."

Sedreth swore under his breath. "I'll deal with that. Sara, get us out of here. Janey, fire everything we have, proximity burst at two thousand metres; you remember how?"

"I 'member, Mr Morgan," came the reply as the girl flicked switches. He ran from the room, trusting his ship to a seven-year-old girl-child without a flicker.

Sara ignored the thunder of bolter fire from below and shoved the mains in full. "Course for Macragge, warp in twenty seconds, Geller fields at max. Janey, fire another barrage."

"Yes, mummy," came the excited reply.

On her screens there was sudden gap in scan as _Implacable_ blew up in a flare of energy, taking thousands of spores and mature creatures with her. The warp drive ripped a purple-lightninged hole in reality and they were gone.

"Sedreth, what's going on down there?"

There was a hideous screeching and more bolter fire, then silence. Sedreth's voice came through the internal speaker. "Our uninvited guest is dead. Bring me down medical packs, as fast as you can. We have two wounded and three dead."

Janey's face fell, but she scrambled down from her chair and ran for their small infirmary and the medical kits.

It was better, later, when they'd laid out the bodies in the chapel. Sara looked at the ancient room and the bodies lying in front of the altar; a simple affair bearing only the aquila and the winged talon device that Sedreth had told her was the Imperial insignia for the Emperor's Children, from before the Heresy. In the dim lighting she could see great banners hanging, so enshrouded with dust as to be grey rather than any other colour, and a series of alcoves extending into darkness. The lights needed replacing in here, she thought. Though it felt somehow right that the five bodies lay in semi-darkness, as if the ship mourned them too.

The two huge space marines in their black armour dwarfed the other bodies, especially the woman, who had still had her headset on when she'd landed on their deck. A massive claw had been driven through her chest from behind, although, covered to the neck as they were with white shrouds you couldn't tell and she seemed to be only sleeping. Janey had been very upset when the two wounded crew had died, of some sort of venom and despite their best attempts to save them. Sedreth had taken her aside and told her that she'd done her very best and that it was a miracle they'd managed to get anyone off the _Implacable_ at all, but Sara knew that she still blamed herself.

She sighed and left the silent shrine to its own devices, heading upwards to find and comfort her daughter.


	6. Chapter Five

a/n I've been told in reviews that scene changes are hard to follow; I've added some horizontal lines to help. Thanks for the feedback, everyone. It's much appreciated. Chapter Five

Operator Silius Togli turned in his seat. "Sir, I have an unscheduled warp exit. Large vessel, claiming communications priority. They want immediate contact with the astartes Ultramarines, sir. They say astartes protocol 101."

Supervisor Aggie Lothar turned round from where she was discussing next week's schedules with the under-supervisors. "Togli, did you just say, protocol 101?"

"Yes, sir. A vessel named _Eyes of the Phoenix_, recently claimed as salvage by a captain Sara Tarken."

She took three swift steps to the comms and took over the control. "_Eyes of the Phoenix_, this is traffic supervisor Lothar. Repeat your request. Did you say astartes protocol 101?"

A deep voice answered her and a massive armoured figure appeared on the vid-screen. "That is an affirmative on protocol 101, traffic control. In the Emperor's name put me in contact with the Lord Commander."

She blinked at the space marine. "Sir, I cannot do that, but I am patching you through to the astartes Ultramarines military control." She hit several controls at once; another massive armoured figure, this one in blue armour, appeared on her second vid.

"This is brother-sergeant Pannone. This is an emergency channel, traffic control. What is the problem, in the Emperor's name?"

"Sergeant, this is traffic supervisor Lothar in system traffic control. We have an unscheduled warp exit at system edge. The signal is very faint, but they demand contact with Lord Commander Calgar under astartes protocol 101. The person on the comm-link is a space marine, sir."

Even on the small vid image, the warrior's eyebrows rose a fraction in surprise. "Put them through, supervisor."

"Affirmative, sergeant. Patching the signal through now."

Pannone looked at the unsteady grainy image; an astartes in dark armour, looking grim. "Brother-sergeant Pannone of the Ultramarines 6th company, I greet you in the name of the Emperor," he identified himself. "What is the problem, brother?"

"Brother-sergeant Morgan. Our communications array is severely damaged following action against a tyranid fleet spur in the Caltenis system. I regret, brother-sergeant, that we cannot transmit the full tactical data of the action with any certainty. Request permission to dock at your facilities for manual transfer of data records in the Emperor's name. Affirm?"

Caltenis was less than ten systems away; a hive fleet spur this close? He didn't hesitate.

"Affirmative, brother-sergeant Morgan. You have clearance to dock at the main military facilities; transmitting lane protocols now. A squad will be at dock to receive you."

The other man nodded sharply. "Affirmative, brother-sergeant. Request re-ammunitioning; class V and VI munitions."

"I shall pass on the request. Do you have need of medical facilities?"

"Negative, brother-sergeant. Burial facilities and the services of an apothecary only. We also have a carnifex corpse aboard for study."

An apothecary? Pannone nodded silently; he knew what that must be for – geneseed extraction from the dead. But a xenos corpse would be helpful; a toxin might be tailored from such. "Brother-sergeant, the squad is on its way to dock now. Take dock seventeen-alpha."

"Acknowledged, brother, dock seventeen-alpha. By His Grace, _Phoenix_ out."

The connection clicked off. Pannone thought for a second, then opened his vox to contact brother-captain M'shur.

* * *

"Mr Morgan, why are you wearing black armour?"

"Because, Janey, if I wear my own colours, they will kill me on sight rather than listen. This way, I will at least be able to speak with the Ultramarines, and pass on the data. Captain Abdiel and his men will not have died in vain."

The girl nodded. "Be careful, Mr Morgan."

"I shall be. Sara, you had better wear something formal. The Ultramarines are quite sticky with protocol, I seem to recall."

Sara looked askance at him over her shoulder, then turned her attention back to docking the great ship. He smirked. "They will want to speak with you also, captain Tarken."

She said nothing, speaking into her headset as she brought _Eyes of the Phoenix_ into a perfect dock at the rim of the massive fleet space station.

He smiled. "Nice job, captain."

She nodded. "Thanks, brother-sergeant." She spoke again, into the mike. "This is _Eyes of the Phoenix_. Attaching umbilicals. Opening main hatch."

An acknowledgement came back. She turned, but Sedreth had already left.

* * *

Brother-sergeant Malthar watched the ship as she came in. A warship, obviously, with a few scars which looked recent. He didn't recognise the ship class though; the prow was upside-down and that was not something he had seen before, though it appeared to be carved into the likeness of a great eagle. There was a massive gouge near the top of her control tower and twisted wreckage could be seen inside. Pannone had told him she claimed comms damage; he could see why. He readied his squad with a glance as the hatch opened and the ship's ramp extended. There was a pause of a few seconds before a single marine in black armour walked down the ramp. The warrior walked straight up to him and saluted.

"Brother-sergeant Morgan," he said identifying himself. "Brother-captain Abdiel and brother Lieth are at rest in the ship's chapel. I would be grateful if two of your astartes would stand vigil until formal rites can be held."

Malthar nodded. "There are just the three astartes aboard?"

The man nodded, face grim, even by Black Templar standards. "Casualties were heavy. Captain Tarken made a single high-speed pass to 'port as many survivors from _Implacable_ as she could. There were few to receive."

Malthar glanced at his own squad. "Volunteers to stand vigil for the Fallen."

All nine stepped forward instantly. "Brothers Agren and Vintnar, you will serve this sacred duty."

Morgan spoke into his vox. "Captain Tarken, will you show the brothers to the chapel?" An acknowledgement came back even as a black-clad woman appeared at the hatchway accompanied by a small girl-child in a white formal robe with a twisted black and silver sash as a belt. The woman nodded to the two astartes and gave a formal salute, leading them into the vessel's interior.

Morgan looked at him. "The Lord Commander must receive these." He indicated a pouch on his belt. "The records of the battle and most recent schematics of the system."

Malthar nodded. "Indeed. My orders are to have Captain Tarken accompany us. The ship's captain's perspective will be valuable."

Morgan gave a slight smile. "Indeed, brother-sergeant. Captain Tarken is an exceptional woman."

They waited in silence for a few minutes.

Malthar listened to his marine's report. "Clean but barely used, with ancient First Founding chapter banners and several unknown insignia? Indeed? Five dead? Very well. Touch nothing. Remain on station and report." He turned to his squad. "Brother Destin, brother Kavin, you will remain here on guard duty. No-one is to enter this ship without the express permission of the Lord Commander. Brother-sergeant Morgan, your weapons please."

The other looked at him questioningly for a long moment, then nodded, handing a well-cared-for bolter and old-fashioned combat blade over without saying a word. The woman and child appeared again at the top of the ramp and walked down with a confidence he doubted they felt. The child looked up at the marines surrounding her with a bright smile.

"Are we going with you, Mr Morgan?"

Morgan nodded. "Yes, Janey. Your mother's testimony of our actions and the fight will be helpful to the Ultramarines."

The child nodded, apparently unbothered by the proximity of six Ultramarine warriors. "Okay. Are we going now?"

Malthar simply indicated they should start walking, his squad taking up guarding positions as they headed for the Thunderhawk that would take them to the fortress monastery.

"You had better strap yourself in, captain, Janey," said Morgan. The girl grinned at him.

"These seats are too big for me," she laughed, bubbly and excited. She plumped herself down on her mother's lap, giggling despite her best attempts to stop it. For the first time in Malthar's two-century-long memory they were accompanied in flight by a tiny girl-child who laughed so much she almost bounced out of her seat in excitement. Even his experienced squad were having trouble not smiling at her infectious enjoyment, and he noted the mysterious astartes Morgan's amusement with a certain irritation. But the flight was soon over and they landed neatly at entrance four. He noted that none of his passengers – prisoners? – made any effort to hide their expressions.

"Impressive, brother-sergeant," said the marine, looking up at massive towers of golden stone and the great blue and white banners. "The iron fist has rarely had such a velvet glove. I would wager that even great Dorn himself would have had trouble taking this place."

Malthar nodded, managing not to look pleased at the compliment; Rogal Dorn, Primarch of the Imperial Fists and their successor chapters, the Black Templars and Crimson Fists, had long been acknowledged as the premier siege-master in Imperial history.

"Captain Tarken, you and your daughter will accompany brother Lehrman. You will wait until the Lord Commander has spoken with brother-sergeant Morgan."

They both nodded and followed the blond marine.

"Sergeant, if you would?" Malthar indicated the door, where two Ultramarines stood guard. They walked through it and down the immaculate corridors towards the minor council chamber and Lord Commander Marneus Calgar.

* * *

"Please wait in here, captain. I doubt it will take long before you are sent for. There is a devotive through those doors if you wish to offer a prayer to the Emperor for your safe arrival here."

She nodded. "Thank you, astartes. We are honoured by your hospitality." She led her daughter into the room, the little girl giving him a shy smile as he closed the door behind them. He looked at the polished wooden panels and nodded thoughtfully then turned and walked swiftly along the corridors to rejoin his squad.

The room was magnificent, hung with paintings and carpeted thickly in blue with a huge white 'U' in the very centre of the floor. The furniture was clearly designed for normal humans rather than astartes, which Sara had to admit came as something of a relief after being dwarfed on the ship for the last ten months or so. She opened the gleaming door brother Lehrman had indicated; sure enough, it opened onto a beautiful shrine hung with Imperial iconography with a large Ultramarines banner above it. She smiled to Janey.

"I think the Emperor deserves our thanks, don't you?"

"Yes, mummy," said Janey and took up a position of prayer. "Can we say our own prayers?"

"I think that we should. He deserves to know that both of us are grateful."

She nodded. "And the Ultramarines too."

Sara smiled and took a position beside her beloved child.

* * *

Brother-sergeant Holchis watched the woman and child as they knelt in front of the small devotive. Although it truly was a revered shrine, it also contained both audio and video pick-ups; more information had been gathered from the shrine than had ever been heard from reluctant guests unwilling to embarrass themselves in front of astartes. He tuned the pick-ups to catch both prayers and listened in attentively.

"...Mr Morgan. Please forgive him for all the bad stuff he did; he really wants to be a good marine again. Thank You for keeping mummy and Mr Morgan safe from the nasty Word Bearers on Haura, and please take the brave man who helped us to rest safe with You. Please take care of Your Black Templars and their friends, and all the people who we weren't in time to rescue. We're so sorry, Lord Emperor. Please give Your blessing to the brave warriors of Your Thirteenth Legion when they go to fight the tirinnids and bring them victory. And Lord Emperor, please help Your son, give him the strength and the grace to fight the daemon that holds him, so that he can come back to You once again.

"Please, Lord Emperor, forgive us our sins and trespasses. We love You and honour You now and forever. Amen."

Word Bearers? Haura? Son? And how in the Emperor's name could a girl-child know the Legion number of the Ultramarines? He opened a channel to the archives.

"How can I serve, brother-sergeant?" answered brother Mikel, who had this duty while he recovered from injuries sustained in a recent action against the orks.

"Brother, can you search for any recent references to conflict on the planet of Haura, and the heretic Word Bearers?"

"Of course, brother-sergeant. I shall have an answer for you within the hour."

"In his Name, brother. Thank you." Holchis clicked off, then thoughtfully played the recording of the woman's prayer.

"Lord Emperor, who protects and guides us, it has been too long since I knelt before your Grace. I pray that I have done right in Your eyes this last year, and that where I have failed to achieve the tasks You set me, You will grant me the strength to try again. Thank You for my beloved Kanret. He was the finest of husbands and I know he is safe in Your Light. I am grateful that he was able to serve You. Thank You for bringing Morgan Sedreth to save my daughter from the Night Lords; I pray You assist him in finding again the path of true Grace in Your name. And thank You for showing the ganger Your truth at the end. I pray that You take that man into Your forgiveness, for he died facing Your enemies and no man can ask a better death. Thank You again, for giving me the courage to face those enemies, and the strength to learn how to defeat them. Most of all, thank You for Janey; she is the greatest gift I could ever ask for.

"Lord Emperor, forgive us our sins and trespasses. We love and honour You now and forever. Amen."

Night Lords? Who were these people? He thought for a second then put through a call to his captain.

"Brother-captain, you had better hear this."

* * *

Sedreth stood easily before the seated captains, watching the screen as the battle unfolded. As it ended there was a long silence. The grizzled figure of Marneus Calgar, Lord Commander of the Ultramarines, stood slowly.

"What were the casualties, brother-sergeant Morgan?"

"Seven strike cruisers, their crews, the station, its governor, and around twenty thousand colonists. The planet will be uninhabitable for several centuries due to the power plant detonation. Also, seven companies of Black Templars astartes, to a man."

There was a profound silence at that last. Seven companies, out of the ten available to a typical chapter, could cause its extinction. That the Black Templars had several crusading companies, each of around a thousand marines, did not entirely lessen the blow. Seven hundred space marines was a grievous loss to the Imperium.

"And captain Tarken teleported you off the _Implacable_?"

"Captain Tarken made one high-speed pass and teleported everyone whose signal she could catch from _Implacable_, Lord Commander. It was deeply unfortunate that brother-captain Abdiel was in contact with a carnifex at that precise moment."

"The same carnifex which is currently being dissected by our apothecaries?"

"Yes, Lord Commander."

"Who killed it?"

"I did, Lord Commander. But I was too late to prevent it killing brother-captain Abdiel and brother Lieth."

Calgar nodded slowly. "I have ordered the fleet to prepare. We shall exterminate these foul xenos and avenge your brothers."

Sedreth bowed slightly in acknowledgement.

"There is," went on the Ultramarines' commander, "another matter, however. The ship _Eyes of the Phoenix_. What do you know of it?"

"It is very old. Captain Tarken was granted title to it as salvage after it was found drifting and abandoned. It is a warship, of a type no longer produced."

"Indeed it is. Two of my techmarines visited the ship and examined it. Its machine spirit was, they tell me, less than helpful. Nonetheless, they noted that its dedication plate was still intact." He took out a small sheet of parchment and read aloud. "_Eyes of the Phoenix, epsilon-76, 0001-delta, 29-sigma, gamma-79_."

Calgar looked at him with an unreadable gaze. Sedreth smiled briefly. "Lord Commander, I am far too old to play games. The ship's name is _Eyes of the Phoenix_. The ship-code epsilon-76 indicates a Raptor-class strike destroyer. The planetary origin indicates it was built on Mars, and the fourth pairing that it was assigned as an astartes ship during the 29th millennium. The final alphanumeric, as you well know, indicates the chapter and company, or in this case combat century, to which the ship was assigned. Each astartes chapter has an appropriate letter from the ancient alphabet known as Greek. That of the Ultramarines, for example is _nu_, the thirteenth letter of that alphabet, for the Thirteenth Legion Astartes, which you were. All successor chapters of yours likewise have the same letter in their ship registrations. The _gamma_ indicates the Legion number that this ship was assigned to."

Calgar nodded. "Which means?"

"Gamma is the third letter of the alphabet. Which means that it was assigned to the 79th Century of the Third Legion Astartes. As one could guess from the ship's name, if one considered for a few moments. The phoenix was the chosen symbol of the Third Legion's Primarch."

All the captains were on their feet now, but he had to give them credit; their discipline held. Calgar raised a hand and they relaxed, one by one into their chairs. Half a dozen Ultramarines Terminators stepped out of the shadows at the room's edges.

Sedreth chuckled wryly. "Lord Commander, there is no subterfuge here. That tyranid fleet exists."

Calgar nodded. "We know. A trader-ship arrived in system less than five minutes ago with refugees from the mining colony. The question is, 'Morgan' who are you? You are not a Black Templar, though you wear their arms."

"A regrettable necessity, Lord Commander. I have no wish to dishonour the sons of Rogal Dorn. But had I worn my own colours, I would have been killed on sight before I could pass the message to you. Unless Imperial policy has changed regarding my Legion?"

"Which is? For the record."

"I am astartes-sergeant Morgan Sedreth, 79th Century, Emperor's Children." The sound of bolters being racked was suddenly loud. He didn't move except to continue as if nothing had happened, "I am the last astartes of the Third Legion. My former brethren can no longer be described as astartes, or indeed, in many cases, human."

Calgar nodded, slowly, satisfied. "And the woman and child?"

"They were attacked by some Night Lords I was hunting. I either left them to the less than gentle mercies of the Inquisition, or I gave them refuge. I chose the latter."

"And what of the accursed Word Bearers?"

"An action on Haura. We destroyed one of their temples, and their congregation. As your archives must have discovered by now."

"We?" said one of the captains, grey-haired and cold-eyed.

"Sara, captain Tarken that is, killed one of their chaplains, and a heavy weapons marine."

"You expect us to believe that a woman with little or no weapons training killed a black chaplain?"

He laughed. "Of course not; I would not expect you to believe anything I say, now that you know who I am. But it is truth nonetheless. Now, since I presume you're going to kill me, shall we be about it? I am a hundred centuries out of time and death would be a welcome release."

Calgar looked at him and lifted his hand. Sedreth stood quietly, lifting his chin to offer a better target. So this is how it ends, he thought.

"_Cease!"_ The voice came from one the librarians, a huge man in his blue terminator armour. His staff glowed that same bright blue and his voice seemed to echo.

"_Marneus Calgar, in thou am I well pleased."_ The words seemed to come from everywhere at once, massive and powerful. He realised with a shock that every single librarian in the room was speaking at the same time. The massive golden aquila on the chamber wall was glowing with that same impossible light. More heraldry started to shine, icons and symbols glowing brighter and brighter as marines fell to their knees one by one.

"_Thou shalt lead My Ultramarines into battle on Caltenis, and thou shalt be Triumphant. Morgan Sedreth, thy task is not yet ended. Thy penance shall be great and thy life the cost of it, yet am I merciful. Thou shalt abide here until My fleet does return Victorious. Ready thyself, for I shall test thee and thine. Know, My Ultramarines, that though he now sleeps, My Son Robouté shalt restored be to Me." _It rose to a shattering volume, rippling like a wind through every cell in his body,_ "AND THE CHILD'S PRAYER IS ANSWER__ÉD!"_

It filled his head, his mind, and he was no longer in the room, but looking down on billions of stars surrounding by uncounted flames, red and blue and white and green. Novae flew to meet him and he saw a wan pale light, guttering and almost defeated, on a small planet far away in the Eye. He knew that soul, instant kinship, felt anew the anguish he had felt in the eldar temple. My Primarch. A golden blaze filled his very being and the light suddenly shone like a star, bright and defiant within the sickly purple that surrounded it. Then he was on his knees on the stone floor, tears pouring down his face as a deep voice started to sing, the ancient hymn swiftly joined by the assembled astartes, in the room and right across the fortress monastery, then by pilgrims and citizens across the world. He knew that every shrine in every cathedral and church on the planet glowed cold with the same light that burned through his mind, that millions of people were on their knees in a mass transport of joy, that that great mass of humanity sang with one voice, that somewhere far away even the terrible hunger of the hive-mind flinched and knew fear. The fleet of Ultramar came to full power without any order being given, the very ships shining like suns, and the chapter's dreadnoughts woke as one, surging to mechanical feet with a single mighty roar of defiance. He knew the Ultramarines, each and every one; saw the Throne of the Primarch glowing with the light of a thousand stars, then there was only the great clamour of bells, echoing endless triumph.

Slowly he stood, barely aware. Around him, equally slowly, Ultramarines rose from their prayers, eyes shining with devotion. He looked down at himself. The black was gone, his armour restored to its codex colours, the great pinion of Sanguinius anchored firmly on his shoulder-plate where it glowed as if alive. He raised his head, met the tear-filled gaze of the Lord Commander of the Ultramarines. His fist came to his chest in instinctive salute. Sedreth remained at attention as, one by one, the captains and librarians and Terminators left the room, leaving him alone.


	7. Chapter Six

Chapter Six

The bells rang all across Macragge, clangour of victory. The fleet was returned and the world celebrated. Sara Tarken smiled at her daughter as she laughed, playing with Mikey and Teddy like the child she still was. It was good to see her happy, especially now. The Ultramarines had been treating her like a precious object for days, ever since the Miracle, until Sara herself had put her foot down.

"She's just a child, a little girl who prayed for someone she should not have because she didn't know any better. It's not her fault that the Emperor answered her prayer, nor her doing. It is His doing and His purpose. Janey was just the catalyst; do you honestly believe that a child could cause the Emperor to do something that He had not intended all along?"

That last had got their attention. The Emperor intended that His son, the sainted Primarch Robouté Guilleman, encased in stasis with his weapons and armour, should be restored to His service. For the Ultramarines that was like the world had begun anew. They were affirmed in their already near-unshakeable faith, and if anything more devoted to becoming the perfect space marines than ever.

She looked up, disturbed in her thoughts as the massive black armour of brother-captain Abdiel loomed in the doorway. Now, he, she thought, really was a miracle. Somehow, some why, the hole driven through his chest by the carnifex's talons had healed and he had been restored to life, right in front of two utterly astonished Ultramarines. Much to Abdiel's sorrow and puzzlement, brother Lieth had not been so restored; neither he nor anyone else could work out why, but were forced to accept that the Emperor had taken Lieth to rest in His Light while restoring Abdiel for some purpose as yet undetermined. The scar-faced captain had spent long hours in prayer this last two weeks. Understandably, it had to be said.

Abdiel nodded briefly in acknowledgement of their presence. It was as close as the man ever came to smiling. Sara smiled and returned the nod, waiting for him to speak.

"Captain, I am pleased to inform you that one of my Chapter's vessels has arrived here. I shall be leaving today."

"We shall be sorry to lose you, captain. You have honoured us by staying aboard."

"You have been most gracious hosts, captain." He opened his hand, holding something out. "You risked your ship and your lives to save my brothers, captain. This is for you, to wear in battle against the Emperor's enemies."

She looked at it curiously; a white cross inset on a black circle, both of wax, attached to a small scroll of parchment upon which was written a prayer to the Emperor. "I don't understand."

A flicker of something – humour? "It is a purity seal, captain. It is normally affixed to battle armour, or to a uniform."

Sara went white. A purity seal? For her? "Captain Abdiel, I, … I don't know what to say. I am not, ... not worthy of such an honour."

"Captain Tarken, it is not for you to say whether you are worthy."

She nodded, hesitantly reaching out and placing her hand over it. "Captain Abdiel, I am unfamiliar with how such an object should be consecrated by its wearer. Would you do me the honour of instruction?"

This time it was a real smile, however brief. "It will be my privilege, captain. First, however, I would like to ask something else of you."

"I am at your service, captain."

He nodded. "My brethren ask that your daughter attend a service aboard our ship."

She blinked. "Of course she can. Janey?"

Janey grinned up impishly. "Yes, brother-captain. I'd like that very much."

Abdiel nodded. "In an hour then, after your mother and myself have sealed this to her use."

Janey nodded eagerly, dark curls flying. "Should I wear something formal?"

"It would be appropriate, darling."

She nodded and dashed off to get ready. Sara looked after her, then carefully lifted her toys off the deck. "She is still just a child, captain."

He nodded, the merest flicker of movement. "I know. But she is blessed by the Emperor Himself. Captain Tarken, I am sorry, but I do not believe she will get many more chances to be a child."

Sara sighed slightly. "I know." She shook herself. "We should do this in the chapel?"

"Yes, captain."

* * *

It was a strange sight, even for Macragge's military dock, the grim and massive Black Templar keeping an easy formal pace with a tiny girl-child, his black armour a stark contrast to her white dress and rich purple and gold over-robe. Several dock workers stopped and stared before their supervisors chivvied them back to work.

The mismatched pair arrived at the berth belonging to the strike cruiser _Indomitable Purity_, which had arrived only a few hours before. Four black-armoured astartes guarded its access ramp and the girl spoke quietly but rapidly to the marine she was with. A few moments later all six walked through the hatchway and it sealed behind them.

Janey walked carefully close to Mr Abdiel. Brother-captain Abdiel, she reminded herself. The other Black Templars were just as grim as he was, and even though she felt very very safe around them, she felt nervous too. She had to do everything right.

At the end of the long corridor – she was starting to get sore feet, it was so long – was a pair of huge wooden doors, black and polished with the white cross on them. Above the doors rose the golden aquila. The doors were already open, and past them she could see a lot of very very big, black-armoured warriors. Some of them were almost as big as Mr Morgan, she thought, maybe even bigger. She followed captain Abdiel down between the big carved pews of marines until they were seated in the very front.

She sat when they did, and prayed when they did, and stood when they did and it was very nice. The Black Templars were all sort of contained inside themselves; not like Mr Morgan who was nice and friendly. Well, more anyway. As the service ended, she spoke quickly to captain Abdiel, who looked at her like he was surprised but nodded anyway and signalled to the chaplain, who nodded slowly.

He spoke to the marines. "Brothers, as you have no doubt noticed, today we have a guest at our devotions, a child whose prayer caught the attention of the Emperor Himself. She has asked that she be allowed to speak to us; pray listen closely. Sera Tarken?"

She nodded and stood up and looked at them all.

"Uhm, I'm not sure how I want to say this, and I didn't think much about it before, but when brother-captain Abdiel asked me to attend your service, mummy said something that made me think. We picked up the signal from _Righteous Endurance_ three weeks ago, while we were going somewhere else. Mummy and Mr Morgan decided that we had to respond, and I'm very glad we did, because if we hadn't brother-captain Abdiel wouldn't be here with us today. But that's not why we did it.

"You see, you're space marines. And you're all about duty and honour and protecting people like me. That's why we have space marines. To fight evil where normal people can't. And by doing that, you make it easier for everyone else. People, ordinary people, only have to worry about getting a job, or school, or their friends and family, because you keep all the other problems, the big horrid nasty evils, away from us. Mr Morgan says that evil lives in a pit, and to fight it you have to go down into the pit and get dirty. Well, I guess he knows better than anyone. And that's why you have services like this one, to help you clean all the evil off yourselves. But you're not evil, and you're not in need of cleaning, not here," she touched her chest, "in your hearts, where it really matters.

"I'm not sure how I'd be able to be a space marine, even if girls could be. I don't know if I'd be brave enough to do what you do, to go down into the pit again and again. I've seen it, just once, really, when mummy and Mr Morgan fought the Word Bearers on Haura. They twisted what people believed, so that they were serving chaos when they thought they were serving the Emperor. Because that's what evil does; it twists things so that truth is lies and lies seem true. But the Emperor, he was looking down on mummy and Mr Morgan and me that day, and he showed one of the Word Bearers' people that he was wrong, and that man shot the Word Bearer's priest in the back so mummy was able to kill him. The man was killed doing that, and I 'member him in my prayers, not just 'cos he saved mummy, but 'cos he found the Emperor's truth right at the end and that deserves to be remembered. And mummy and Mr Morgan won, and they burned all the temple and set demolition charges and blew what was left to little bits.

"And that's what you do, you blow all the evil to little bits. And people look up at you, so big and strong and brave and powerful and they're, well, not scared, but, like, worshipping. And that's not right. You're human too. And you deserve something better than just worship. And that's really why I'm here. Uhm, would you all stand up, please?"

They did, a mass of ominous black. She stepped down and walked to the first marine, taking his armoured hand in both her own and looking up at his grim face. "Thank you for being there for us." Then she went to the next one and did the same, and the next and the next and the next, until she'd said thank you to every single one of them. Then she walked back down the front, feeling tired but needing to say something else.

"There's one last thing I want to say. When mummy and me were at home we were attacked by Night Lords. You all know who they are. Mr Morgan saved us. Mr Morgan was once a space marine like you. But he followed his Primarch and rebelled against the Emperor, long long ago. An' he was bad bad man, like the Night Lords and Word Bearers, for thousands and thousands of years. But, like the man in the temple, he got a second chance. A chance to be a proper space marine again. The Emperor said that he'll die, but I think that in a funny way he's quite pleased to know that he'll die in the Emperor's service. Anyway, I'm wearing the Imperial colours of his Legion today. I don't know if any of you know them, but this is an armour-robe for the Emperor's Children, from the time long ago back before they followed chaos. And brother-chaplain, I want you to take it. Keep it, until those colours are proud again. It's a sign of hope, that with the Emperor's help even the worst people can be better. And it's a warning too. I guess you all know what it's a warning about."

She took it off and offered it to him. He took it, carefully folding it over his arm. Then he spoke. "What is your duty?"

The marines answered all at the same time. "Service to the Emperor's will."

"What is the Emperor's will?"

"That we fight and die."

"What is death?"

"Death is our duty."

"What is your duty?"

Captain Abdiel stood beside her as the chant built and built. Then it cut off and the chaplain made a final benediction. Abdiel touched her shoulder gently and she followed him; the Black Templars made a space for them.

As they walked together along the corridor a marine approached. "Brother-captain, your presence is requested. With sera Tarken."

Abdiel nodded and they followed the man down a cross-corridor to another marine-sized black wooden door. Through the door was a big oval table with four marines sitting at it. She recognised the chaplain, but not the other three. The man in the middle, wearing the insignia of a captain on his black armour, stood as they approached.

"Brother-captain, sera Tarken. Please take a seat."

She shook her head. "Can I stand on it? I can't see over marine tables."

The captain nodded. "Of course. Janey, is it not?"

She nodded, suddenly shy.

"I am brother-captain Vascelij, commanding the 9th company, and this ship. We would like to ask you a few questions, if you don't mind?"

She scrambled up onto the big chair. "Uhm, okay."

He nodded. "You spoke about the Night Lords and the Word Bearers today. You have seen both, is that correct?"

She nodded. "Yes, sir. The Night Lords attacked mummy and me on the farm – well, mummy mostly 'cos I hid upstairs. And we fought the Word Bearers on Haura."

"Yes. We know that your mother and Morgan Sedreth fought the Word Bearers. What did you do?"

"I ran tacscan, mostly. But I 'ported in and dropped some gernades and 'ported out again. Mr Morgan said I wounded a Word Bearer so mummy was able to kill him." She blushed. "Mummy was really angry at me."

"Why?" asked one of the other marines.

"She said I coulda been killed."

The captain nodded. "You could have been. How many Word Bearers were involved in the action?"

She counted on her fingers. "Uhm, there was three to start with, then eight more 'ported in from somewhere. So that was eleven."

"Your mother and Morgan Sedreth killed eleven Word Bearers on their own?"

"Yes. Well, not all at once. Mr Morgan had killed one and hurt another before the squad 'ported in, and 'cos we managed to get the co-ordinates right, he was able to throw some krak gernades right where they landed, and mummy threw her flamer too, so four or five of them were killed before they could join in the fight. An' Mr Morgan got the one he'd already hurt right about then too"

"I see. And then you destroyed their temple complex?" asked a scar-faced man with a white skull helmet sitting in front of him.

She nodded. "Mummy and Mr Morgan burned it all, then set a demolition charge. Was that okay to do?"

The man laughed briefly, sudden dark humour. "You killed a Word Bearer black chaplain and his guards, and destroyed his vile temple. Yes, I think you could say that it was okay to do."

She felt the relief flood through her. "I thought you might be mad we didn't get any prisoners, or call the governor or something."

The captain shook his head. "We are not angry. Surprised that you succeeded, but not angry. Now, Janey, can you tell us what you know about the chaos Legions?"

"Uhm yes, okay. I only know what Mr Morgan says though. Anyway, there's nine of them. The Night Lords and the Word Bearers and the Emperor's Children and the World Eaters and the Death Guard and the Alpha Legion and the Thousand Sons and the Iron Warriors and what used to be the Luna Wolves but Mr Morgan says they're just called the Black Legion now. They all rebelled against the Emperor in the Heresy, an' all their Primarchs are daemon princes now except Mr Morgan's 'cos he's actually possessed by a daemon, and the Black Legion's and the Night Lords' cos they're dead. Mr Morgan says that the Primarch of the Alpha Legion was supposed to be killed too, but he doesn't think it's true. He says that he's only certain that three Primarchs are dead. Horus, Sanguinius, and Ferrus Manus." She stopped suddenly aware of lot of tension.

"Uhm did I say something wrong?"

Captain Abdiel shook his head slightly. "No, Janey. But I would be interested to know why Morgan Sedreth does not believe in the deaths of the Night Haunter, or Primarch Dorn, or the accursed traitor Alpharius."

"Uhm, we didn't really talk about it, but he says that basically only a Primarch can kill another Primarch; they're just too powerful for anyone else to."

"Very well, please continue."

"Okay. Anyway, Mr Morgan says that the chaos Legions are all evil, but some are much worse than others. Like the World Eaters are only dangerous in battle, 'cos they're all little warbands now, not one Legion, and that's the same for the Emperor's Children, but the Word Bearers take their orders from their Primarch still so they're not just dangerous in battle, but dangerous in other ways too, 'cos they plan. An' so do the Night Lords, but they have lots of factions which fight each other, like the Iron Warriors do. Not little warbands, but big armies and companies. An' the Death Guard just spread plagues an' disease an' stuff an' spend a lot of time fighting other legions in the Eye, so they're a lot less dangerous to humanity than they could be. An' he says the Thousand Sons don't actually care about the Imperium, just about knowledge and getting better at sorcery. He says that that doesn't mean they won't attack the Imperium, but, except for the Space Wolves, they'll ignore and avoid space marines if they can."

"And the Alpha Legion?"

"Mr Morgan says he doesn't know much about them, even after all that time. He says that whatever they're doing, it's very secret. He says that no-one knows what they want or even if they serve chaos, really, but that they are very dangerous in battle 'cos they have no sort of set tactics an' are good at pretty much every kind of fighting."

"And the Black Legion?"

"Well, they tried to clone Horus, but the other Legions stopped them."

"They did? When was this?" Captain Vascelij sounded alarmed and the others round the table seemed to coil in on themselves.

"Mr Morgan says about five hundred years after the Heresy, before the World Eaters and Emperor's Children had their big war. Everyone wanted to stop Horus coming back. He says he was there when the Emperor's Children broke into their fortress and destroyed all the clones."

The warriors round the table visibly relaxed.

"I see. Do you know anything else about them?"

"Not really. Mr Morgan says that their commander now was their First Captain during the Heresy, and that he's a very good tactician and straty-jist."

"He is correct. Has he discussed his former Legion with you?"

"A bit. He says that his Century, the 79th, were one of the warbands, and that most warbands are made up of a few survivors from the Heresy plus newer recruits. He says that they like torture and destruction, but they like to make people enjoy themselves too. I didn't understand that, but he says that if people enjoy themselves too much, that's all they do, and they can easily be turned to chaos. And he says that his last captain was an idiot."

They looked questioningly at her. "I don't know why he says that. I think it's 'cos he wasn't very good at tactics an' stuff."

Captain Vascelij stood. "Janey, thank you very much for taking the time to talk to us. Brother-captain Abdiel will take you back to your ship now."

She nodded and scrambled down, then gave them a little bow, 'cos she felt she should. "Thank you. Emperor's Grace on you and your brothers, captain Vascelij."

He nodded. "And on you, Janey, and your companions."

She followed captain Abdiel out. They were all so brave. She held tight to his big hand as they walked and she sniffed back the urge to cry.

He paused, looking at her. "Janey, why are you upset?"

She blushed. "'Cos you're all so brave and you go an' get killed for us."

"Janey, do not cry for the astartes. We are blessed above all men. We are truly privileged to do what we do, to be humanity's shield. It is an honour above any other."

"Really?"

He nodded, kneeling down to meet her eyes – she still had to look up. "Janey, your thanks today are all, and more, than we need. To watch the loyal citizens of the Imperium going about their business unafraid, that is reward enough. Come now, dry your tears and let us return to your ship."

She nodded, wiping her eyes on her hankie. "Do I look like I've been crying?"

He paused and looked down at her. "No, Janey, you look perfectly fine."

She nodded again and stood as straight as she could, walking beside him the long way round the docks back to mummy and _Eyes of the Phoenix_.

Back in the council chamber Vascelij was discussing the interview.

"I am not comfortable with a girl-child knowing so much. And what of this Sedreth? Can anyone be sure of his loyalties? He broke faith once before."

"I understand your concern, brother-captain. However, I have spoken at length with the librarians of the Ultramarines; they are convinced that Sedreth has been tasked by the Emperor. In person."

"This, 'Miracle'?"

"Yes. Brother-captain, every single shrine on the planet glowed with His power. All the librarians felt His presence; the Astronomicon burned brighter in the minds of our own navigators than it has done in a thousand years. And the prophesied Victory is complete; the hive fleet spur was utterly annihilated. Our brothers can rest easy for their last task is now accomplished."

"Hmm. And what of possible taint?"

"I sensed nothing, brother-captain. I have not met this Sedreth, but neither Abdiel nor the child showed any touch of chaos. And Lord Calgar would not have allowed any of them to live had his own librarians or chaplains detected a hint of taint in them."

He paused thoughtfuly, then went on, "They are dangerous, brother-captain, but not, I think to the Emperor's interests. Whatever those may be. It is His will that they live and His purpose they serve. Abdiel, too, has some task to perform, I think."

Vascelij nodded slowly, meeting each man's gaze. "Do you believe her about the accursed Emperor's Children Primarch?"

"Brother-captain, I do not know if it is true. But she believes it. And I think that this Sedreth believes it – although how much of that is merely because he does not wish to think that his Primarch could willingly become such a vile creature, and how much truth, well, a matter of irrelevance. The being known as Fulgrim remains an enemy to be destroyed without mercy, in the unlikely event any of us are ever in such a position."

"And the Primarch, brother-captain? Could he still live?"

"Again, that is not a matter of immediate relevance. If he still lives, he has chosen, like his brothers, to remove himself for some reason unknown to us. In which case, he will return to us when the Imperium has true need of him. Either way, we can only continue as we always have, and hunt and destroy the Emperor's enemies."

* * *

Sedreth looked up as the blue-armoured warrior entered his small cell. The man spoke without preamble or greeting, like those few Ultramarines he had met since Calgar had led his forces against the tyranids. "The fleet is returned victorious as promised. You will come with me."

He followed silently, barely acknowledging the lack of courtesy – it was natural after all. They quickly arrived at a gleaming doorway which his escort opened and ushered him through. In the small chamber beyond stood the Lord Commander in full battle armour, and beside him, the massive armoured coffin of a dreadnought. Calgar spoke without emotion, but he could sense the man's anger.

"I am not comfortable with this decision, Morgan Sedreth, but I have served my Emperor all my life and will not disobey now. In the next chamber are your armour and weapons; your ship is in count, both your companions already aboard. I do not recommend you return here."

He nodded.

The dreadnought's external speakers crackled to life. "The Ultramarines obey the Emperor, Morgan Sedreth. You have a chance at redemption. Do you fail, or again break your allegiance, know that we shall hunt you down even to the Eye of Terror."

The speakers cut off. Sedreth saluted; it was not returned. The two Ultramarines left the chamber, leaving him alone.

"Mr Morgan! You're back."

"I would not stay away, Janey," he answered, as the armoured hatchway closed behind him. "Sara. I am aboard." He walked with Janey along the corridor to the lift. She bounced happily beside him.

"Mr Morgan, lots of weird stuff has been happening."

"Oh?"

"Uh-huh. Brother-captain Abdiel came back to life, and all the ship systems came online at once, and the chapel's all bright and clean."

"All bright and clean?"

Dark curls flew as she nodded enthusiastically. "Yes. It's all shiny, an' you can see all the banners an' everything."

They walked out of the lift and down the short corridor to the bridge where Sara sat in the pilot's chair. She looked round as they entered and smiled. "Hello, Morgan. Janey, can you take scan? Morgan, take comms and nav, please. We're undocking in three minutes."

He took his chair with a slight smile. The bridge gleamed, its lights somehow brighter than he remembered, and even the few faint traces of dust in unused corners were gone.

"This is naval dock control. _Eyes of the Phoenix_, you are clear to undock."

"Acknowledged, control. Umbilicals detached. Undocking in thirty seconds."

Janey's light voice sounded serious, all business. "System scan to pilot. Navigation hazard in quadrant tau-epsilon mark 6."

"Confirmed. I have your course, Morgan. Laying in now. Jump to warp in twelve minutes. Janey, bring the Geller fields online."

"Yes, mummy. Geller fields show yellow and building. Power systems operating normally."

"This is Macragge control. _Eyes of the Phoenix_, you have clearance to system nadir, navigation lane seven-gamma."

"Acknowledged, control. Proceeding on lane seven-gamma, point 35 c."

Controller Ibdis watched the image on his screen and idly flicked through the readout, watching the great warship as he did so. Even though this was a base for the Ultramarines, it was very rare for another space marine vessel to dock here, and he was honoured that it was him who had been tasked with guiding the Black Templars ship from local space. He looked at the registration readout.

_Indomitable Purity, epsilon-93, 1047-gamma, 37-sigma, epsilon-secundus-9. _

37th millennium? That was an old ship. Most warships – he knew it was a warship from the class code 'epsilon', even though he'd have to look the registry manual to know what class – didn't last that long. He wondered why all astartes ships had the symbol 'sigma' after their year of fabrication. Perhaps there was some significance to the letter. He knew that trade ships had a tau, and Imperial naval vessels a gamma. Administratum vessels were alpha, and Inquisition omega, while the very rare ships of the Ecclesiarchy were signified by pi. A new blip appeared on his screen, hand-off from dock control, and he dismissed the puzzle.

"This is Macragge control. _Eyes of the Phoenix_, you have clearance to system nadir, navigation lane seven-gamma."

"Acknowledged, control. Proceeding on lane seven-gamma, point 35 _c_."

That was quite fast for a trade ship – very fast in fact. He pulled up the ship's details. By the Emperor. _29__th_ millennium? He turned to his supervisor.

"Sir, I have an anomaly."

She leant over his shoulder as he pointed out the age and class of the mysterious, ancient, ship.

"Ibdis, that is not an anomaly. You will forget you ever saw that ship. In fact, it would be better if there was no record of that vessel being here."

He looked, astonished, at supervisor Martel's greying and lined face. Her eyes were very serious. "Ibdis, I know you're a numbers addict; all the best controllers are. Trust me, you do not want to know anything about that ship, and especially nothing about its registration."

He nodded. "Yes, sir." He turned back to his screen. "_Eyes of the Phoenix_, affirm that. Point three-five of light."

"Acknowledged, control. Opening warp gate in thirty seconds. Confirm." A light feminine voice.

"Warp gate confirmed, Emperor's Grace on you."

There was no reply as the ship went to warp.


	8. Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

Sedreth sat quietly in the remembrance chapel, his thoughts whirling. Every so often he would raise his eyes to look along the long series of alcoves behind the gleaming altar-block. The block itself was simple, since there had been no God for it to be dedicated to; it was more an object of focus than of worship. On the altar was a deep amethyst cloth edged in gold, and on top of that a chalice in the form of the Legion's taloned wing and a pair of candlesticks formed like birds of fire, all three in solid gold and chased with precious metals and inlays. Beyond that were the alcoves, each side of a long long passage, each dedicated to the Fallen in some battle or other, each holding a marble column with the names of dead warriors and most also with a battle banner. The great majority of those banners were of the Legion, but some were from different units, reminder of astartes of other Legions who had fought and died beside the 79th Century.

And right in the centre of the long passageway was the most astounding thing of all. Facing each other, two great, life-size, portraits; remembrance of the fighting on Murder. He remembered now that Cadris had painted them, and that the Primarch himself had called them a good likeness. Both were action portraits, combat against the megarachnid. One showed the Phoenician, magnificent and ferocious in his Imperial battle armour, with golden flames licking along his broadsword _Fireblade_ and his free hand crushing the thorax of a chitinous monstrosity. The other was the Blood Angel, jewel-roped wings outspread in the act of landing, a glowing silver blade in one hand and a massive pistol spitting fire in the other, the joy of battle in his eyes. Warriors of both Legions were depicted in the background of both portraits, ordinary astartes following their Lords into battle for the Emperor. Unlike the other alcoves which held only one remembrance column each, those with the portraits had three each, with long, long lists of Fallen astartes from the IX and XVI Legions as well as Children. Torn and stained banners of all three Legions hung between the paintings, the crimson of the Blood Angels 43rd Century and pearly white of the Luna Wolves Sixth Company flanking the blood-stained amethyst and gold battle banners of the 79th and 78th Centuries of the Emperor's Children.

He had traced the names of the dead with his fingertips, remembering faces and mannerisms, and strangely grateful that they had not lived to see what had become of their brothers.

There was no memorial to the Fallen on Isstvan III. He felt shame at that, and had redoubled his search for the removed data records to no avail.

But there was something he could do. He smiled briefly to himself. Yes, he could do that.

* * *

"Again, Sara." She was getting emotional about that phrase. She came back on stance and repeated the sequence. Unarmed combat today, as it was every second day. No wonder space marines were so feared; the bloody man was tireless. _He_ practised at least six hours a day, blades, bolters, unarmed, even heavy weapons, both in and out of armour, and still he found time to be forensic in his dissection of her faults even while he they were both going through standard sequences. She was out, she knew, even as she made the strike, and held up her hand.

"Morgan, I just can't get that stance change in armour. And the more I try the worse I am. I just can't seem to move that way; it's like I'm fighting the armour itself."

He nodded slowly. "We have been working for two hours, Sara, and you are tired. Take a shower and eat. Janey and myself shall run through some exercises, since she's obviously been waiting her turn. And do not worry about it. We shall work it out soon enough; you have it un-armoured already after all."

She nodded and drew herself up, fist to chest, facing the Legion banner in the ancient salute, bowed to him and walked back to get changed and clean again. The exercises had begun as curiosity more than a year ago, a way to keep in decent physical condition while confined aboard ship, but ever since the incident on Haura, Morgan had had her running and working four hours a day, every day, arguing that if she was going to fight, even if only occasionally, she was going to be as good as he could make her. She agreed with the principle, but it was hard work. The length of the processional, four kilometres, twice, with a thirty kilo pack every morning and evening; two two-hour sessions with blade, bolters or unarmed, one armoured and one un-armoured. She had put on weight, and lost centimetres from waist, hips and bust at the same time. Privately she was convinced she'd never been fitter, but she knew Morgan was not satisfied.

He, of course, was in incredible condition. He ran the processional too, but carrying four hundred kilos. And he did it four times to her twice, faster than Janey could keep up on the transporter she rode. _And_ his reflexes were terrifyingly fast; he occasionally went against her all-out, just to measure her progress. She'd never laid a weapon on him, or even close. Not that that was any disgrace, he said. Only the better champions of the chaos Legions were of his standard, he said. It was little comfort.

She let the hot water sluice down her back, soothing her aching muscles. Food was a good idea; she was famished. She must be eating twice what she used to. So was Janey; even she, of the almost inexhaustible supply of energy, was hard put to keep up with the massive astartes. Weapons drill was not something Sara was entirely comfortable with exposing her daughter to, but with just the three of them, she had to admit it made sense. So Janey got normal lessons in the mornings, and played with knives in the afternoons, most days. Morgan had suggested that she should learn to shoot and Sara had baulked at that. Not yet; she wasn't even eight for another five months. She had though let Janey and Morgan run tactical simulations – they were educational as well as practical, and Janey seemed to like them. She very carefully tried not to think about exactly what they were simulating.

"Mummy's getting angry about that sequence."

The big marine nodded. "Yes. There is no reason why she cannot make the change, but it appears, as she said, that the armour resists it. Perhaps its spirit is not comfortable making astartes combat manoeuvres."

"What are we going to do about it?"

He smiled. "I have an idea. How would you like to make your mother a present?"

"A present?"

He nodded. "It will take some time, and take a lot of hard work, but I think it will be worth it."

Janey looked at him. "What kind of present?"

He leant over and murmured in her ear. She laughed and clapped her hands. "Mr Morgan, that's such a cool idea!"

He gave a smug look. "I thought so."

Sedreth was thoughtful as he went through his exercises. Sara was getting quite decent, which was fortunate, but there was something else at the back of his mind that wouldn't go away. His brothers who had died on Isstvan III deserved to be remembered. And yet, he did not know which of them had dropped to be betrayed and which squads had dropped as part of Eidolon's forces. He wondered where the information might be, running possible places through his mind. He had already checked the main banks; if it had been there, it was long deleted. So, where to find it?

"Mr Morgan."

He paused in mid-strike. "Yes, Janey?"

"Mr Morgan, you're out of time in that sequence. Look at your wrist. It should be straight."

He looked at himself. Hmm. She was right. Not a fatal error against most opponents, but against someone with the appropriate training or experience, or perhaps like an ork, the sheer power, to take advantage, it could open him to a possibly dangerous response. That will teach you to woolgather, Sedreth, he thought.

"Thank you, Janey. My mind was not focussed. That is a timely reminder."

He restarted the sequence, concentrating more fully on his moves. Hmm. That was fractionally out, too. Sedreth, either you're getting sloppy, or there's trouble brewing.

"Janey, I think we both need a break. I am distracted today, for some reason, and I know better than to ignore that sort of distraction. We shall continue this tomorrow."

She nodded, pleased to have found something that helped him. He lifted her easily and carried her through to their changing rooms.

"You go and have a shower, Janey. I shall have mine and meet you in the kitchen."

He let her down and she bounced away with a, "yes, Mr Morgan." He headed to change and shower himself, thoughts still whirling. He'd often found himself making minor lapses on the eve of battle, as if his body was trying to warn him of something it should not, could not, know about. He had once, during the Crusade, spoken with a Librarian of the White Scars about these premonitions, for the Children had had no Librarians at that time, and been told that it was subconscious, the body's instinctive recognition of oncoming conflict warring with his conscious mind's control. "Be grateful, brother Sedreth, for it may save your life one day. But do not let yourself rely on it." And he had not, preferring the logic of tactics and strategy. But today, even though shielded from the surrounding warp by the ship's Geller fields, he felt the oncoming storm as a living thing.

* * *

Sara smiled as she tucked her daughter in. "Good night, sweetheart. Sleep well."

"Goodnight, mummy." The small head snuggled down, bear and doll beside her on the pillow. She was asleep in a few moments, as always.

Sara sat for a while, then kissed the smooth forehead. Emperor look on you, my darling. She walked quietly out, leaving her beloved child smiling happily at some dream or other.

Sedreth was there, armoured and huge, in the short corridor. "She is asleep?"

"Yes. And it's time I turned in, too. And you. I know you don't seem to need sleep, Morgan, but you should get some anyway."

He chuckled softly. "I will sleep in a short while. But I have a surplus of energy tonight, so I shall work some of it off, first."

Sara smiled. "You do that. I am going to bed. Wake me when you finally decide to sleep; it's not fair that you take all the night watches."

He looked at her, amused. "If you insist. Sleep well, Sara." He turned and walked away, almost silent in his stride despite the hulking battle-suit. She watched the disappearing back until he turned the corner and sighed. Time for bed. She opened her door and walked in, readying herself for the usual pain of an empty bed and missing husband. Oh, Kanret, I hope we're doing the right thing.

Sedreth dozed, half-awake in that state than only the astartes catelepsian node can engender. He was partially alert, as sections of his brain switched off and on, allowing him to rest while not resting. It took considerable training to use the node correctly, or long practice. He had both. But it still took him a few seconds to react to the blinking light on the control panel. Fuck! The Geller fields. He swore aloud, and fired the warp drive, opening a hole to realspace which the ship dropped through with a sickening lurch. Then he was on his feet and heading for the sleeping quarters at all his considerable speed.

Kanret! He was just out of reach as she reached desperately for her husband. My love, come back to me. Sara begged and pleaded as her beloved turned away. No!

Sedreth burst into the room, the brightly shining pinion on his armour illumination enough. Not today! He swung the feather through the viscous, coalescing darkness and was rewarded by a scream of rage. Grabbing the purity seal from Sara's jacket he pressed it to her forehead, closing her fingers round it even as he scooped her up, bedclothes and all, and ran into Janey's room.

A voice spoke in his mind, amused and cruel. 'Too Late, Traitor. She Is Mine.'

"For the Emperor!" He burst through the sickly purple cloud around the writhing girl and lifted her, pulling her and her mother close to his chest and dashing for the chapel, now glowing with a white rage he could feel like a living thing.

Behind him he could feel them coming, their insubstantial forms taking on flesh. Good, he thought viciously. Let them come. He stepped into the glowing chapel, light spilling out into the corridor beyond and rewarding him with a frustrated scream, and placed both sleeping forms beside the shining altar.

Well, my Emperor, if you truly have tasked us, I could do with a hand right now.

As if in answer the remote in his left hand glowed green and he grinned as he re-activated the Geller fields. Screams of anger and pain echoed in his mind, satisfyingly loud. He turned, racking his bolter and taking Sara's powersword from its place on the altar. Now, you fuckers.

He drew a breath, looked at the two still-sleeping forms of Sara and Janey; they looked at ease now, no longer moaning and writhing. Time for a bit of vengeance, then. He stepped into the corridor.

"I know you're there, bitch. Come out, Astryaliliath. Let's see how good you are." His challenge was deliberate taunting, irresistible to a daemon which lived on emotion, and he knew it. A twisted purple form lunged from the shadows and the corridors suddenly shone bright, as if _Phoenix_ herself fought with him. The powersword cleft head from neck and the daemonette fell.

"Brought some help, did you? What, one marine too much for you?"

She, it, slid into view, every move a sensual overload. He laughed, unaffected, as another appeared. And another.

"Only three? You haven't much opinion of me, do you? I'll have to change that."

A burst of fire ripped into one's chest and he spun, blade a blur of motion. They were not as fast as they should have been, perhaps slowed by the shining light from the Emperor's chapel. He gave no second chances, killing them with brutal efficiency, blue-black blood spitting and hissing in the energy field of his blade.

"Impressive, Morgan Sedreth. But I Am Not Like Them." The voice was massive, the same as in Sara's room. He turned from the dissolving corpses, met the glowing eyes of the horror as it came into view, easy and confident in its own power. A Keeper of Secrets. His bolter was empty and he dropped it, unholstering his bolt pistol in an easy movement and assuming a guardian stance with the glowing powersword at parry.

"Are you just going to talk?"

The Keeper laughed and moved to the attack with eye-tricking speed. His pistol came up; it didn't even attempt to dodge the bolts. Stupid bastard. The daemon screamed in surprised agony as the blessed rounds tore out its thorax; he drove the powersword in under the massive jaw, unheeding of the psy-scream that should have disabled him, deaf to everything but the need to defend his ship and his companions. Head severed, it collapsed, its form dissolving into smoke. He felt the enraged Presence of the thing as it was forced from the confines of the ship.

"The Emperor protects, daemon. Remember it."

He chuckled wryly. Or more accurately, the Ultramarines protect. He would have to thank brother-Librarian Semetis next time he saw him. He shrugged and started a sweep in case he'd missed any.


	9. Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

"Where are we?"

"I don't know. Nav computers are offline. Temporarily I hope. We have insystem guidance and scan only."

"That was too close, Morgan. We could all have been killed."

He looked grim. "We could have all been much worse off than merely dead, Sara. If you two had been less strong-willed, well, let's just be grateful that you were, and that you're both still you."

Sara looked at him, horror in her eyes. He nodded quietly, not wanting to alarm Janey who was still sleeping.

"It was a Keeper of Secrets, a greater daemon, servant to the Children's patron power. I, we, seem to have finally come to the attention of the warp's greater powers. Fortunately, brother-Librarian Semetis gave me a clip of blessed bolts for my pistol. They disrupted its form, and the Geller fields did the rest. You should thank Sister Agnes, by the way. I think her blade may also be blessed; it certainly cut through our uninvited guests very efficiently."

Sara didn't even crack a smile. "How can you joke about it?"

"Would you rather wallow in fear or self-pity, Sara? The powers of the Warp want us to fear them. But they cannot possess the unwilling; they cannot control a man's soul, or a woman's, unless we let them. You resisted, and the defeat of a Keeper will give them pause, and more than pause."

"I saw Kanret."

He shook his head decisively. "You did not. The Keeper attempted to access your memories. Your husband rests with the Emperor; no warp entity can bring him back to torment you. You knew this, and that is why you were able to fight it. Though the purity seal by your bed may have helped. Sara, I would suggest that you keep the psi-screen I gave you by your bed also; it will provide protection against future attacks."

"What about Janey?"

"Yes. It would be useful if the two of you were to share a sleeping chamber for a short while."

"How long?"

"Until I have checked out the Geller fields. After which I think we must limit our time in warp to no more than a few days. The Mordaunt Sector is, I suspect, a fair distance from our current location, and I am prepared to think that there is purpose in that. We are perhaps not ready for what we must do. Whatever that is."

"And in the meantime?"

"In the meantime, we have sufficient supplies to last several years, and a fine ship. We shall refuel in this system; there is a suitable gas giant, and then decide what to do."

"Can I decide too?" The small voice from the floor caused them both to turn.

"Good morning, Janey. How do you feel?"

"Okay. Was we attacked?"

"We were. They are gone now."

"Can we have breakfast then?"

Sedreth smiled despite himself. "A good idea, Janey. Then you and I can continue our project."

She giggled. "Okay, Mr Morgan."

"Project?" asked Sara curiously.

"It's secret, mummy."

"Oh. I see."

* * *

The nameless gas giant was brightly striped in blues and greens. Sara thought she'd rarely seen anything so lovely. Janey bounced on her chair near the observation windows.

"It's really pretty, mummy."

"It is, isn't it. You should take some pictures, for your scrapbook."

"Can I?"

"Of course," answered Sedreth. He approved of Janey's scrapbook, an idea that had come to Sara a couple of weeks after they had left home. Every world they visited, Janey took some pictures and wrote a little bit about it. As Sedreth put it, there was no reason why education should not be interesting as well as informative, and Janey now had more than a dozen worlds in her rapidly expanding scrapbook, and a huge map of the galaxy on one wall of her room which could be focussed on whichever world she'd written about. She also kept a diary, although neither Sara nor Sedreth were allowed to view it "'cos diaries is secret."

She watched fondly as her daughter busied herself with the camera equipment; it did not occur to the girl that it normally took several months of training to manage it properly – Janey wanted to know how to work it and after some basic instruction from Sedreth, she'd spent a lot of time getting it 'just right'.

Sedreth too watched the girl fiddle carefully with the observation camera, amused by her precocity. She soaked up knowledge like a sponge, he thought, wishing for a moment that she was male – what a recruit she would have made, with so much courage and intelligence. He shook his head slightly, amused at his whimsy, and returned his attention to the rarely-used refuelling arm. The gravitic attraction of the giant planet was significant, but easily dealt with, and he kept a careful eye on the engines and shields while they manoeuvred close enough to start skimming the outer atmosphere.

Sara looked over at the space marine. "Is this close enough, Morgan?"

He nodded. "Yes. We should be able to refuel fairly quickly from here. Can you watch the tanks? They should balance automatically, but you may have to switch manually; the arm hasn't been used for a long long time."

"Yes. I have the tanks online now."

Sedreth was all business now. "Extending arm. Locked and ready. Commence refuelling on my mark, Sara."

"Standing by."

"Mark."

There was a far-off crash as the tank filters came online; they only wanted the hydrogen for the fusion drives, and anything else would be diverted to auxiliary tanks containing oxygen, nitrogen, methane, water and other trace gases. They would likewise filter those, and dump the non-usable elements.

"Tanks filling normally, Morgan."

"Good. Any luck with the charts?"

"Not so far. Spectral analysis hasn't recognised this star, so I'm running through nearby ones to get an approximate location. Once we have enough identified we can fine it down. We should know in a day or two. It's not as if we're in any hurry."

"True. We are not a trade ship, although the thought has occurred to me that it would be a useful cover now that your identity as Sara Tarken has a rogue trader license, helpfully confirmed by Lord Calgar."

"Mmm. But what would we trade?"

"A good question, although the holds are probably still full of loot, taken over the centuries. Some of it might be worth selling rather than dumping. There is certainly little reason to carry it as payload."

Janey's head came up in interest. "Ooh. Mr Morgan, can we explore? Will there be old stuff?"

"On _Phoenix_? I should think so. She hasn't been used as a pirate raider for at least fifteen centuries, that I recall. Anything perishable will have long since dissolved to junk, of course, but other things may be intact."

"What might there be?"

"Janey, I truly do not know. Whatever was the whim of the crew at the time, I imagine. Which could be anything at all."

"Cool. Can we start after lunch?"

"We shall draw up a schedule. There is a large area to search and only three of us, one of whom has to stay here on watch. A systematic exploration will ultimately be more effective even though it will take longer."

"What's sist-ie-matic?"

"Properly organised, Janey, so that we don't miss anywhere, or look at the same place several times."

"Oh. That's a good idea." She turned her attention back to her camera. The two adults looked at each other amid shared smiles of understanding. Sometimes Janey was almost too precocious.

* * *

"More rocks, Mr Morgan. Why's the ship storing lots and lots of rocks?" Janey looked disappointed, as she had a couple of times during the morning's search.

Sedreth ran his scanner over the jumbled mass. Hmm. Iridium and platinum, plus some rarer group elements. "These are ores, Janey. Special types of rock from which valuable metals can be extracted."

"Oh. They're not just rocks then?"

"No. To the right buyer, they will be worth a considerable sum. Not every planet or even every system has everything it needs to supply itself. And even when the ores exist they may be difficult or dangerous to get at."

"So are we gonna sell them?"

"Yes, I think we will, if we can find a system that has need of them."

* * *

It was quiet on the bridge, once Janey was asleep. The little girl had been tired out by the long hours of searching through _Phoenix_'s long-unused holds. Even though there had been relatively little to get excited about, she had spent much of the previous few days helping her mother and Sedreth as they explored cold and undisturbed bays that had once held fighters and vehicles and ammunition, and now held only the mostly worthless loot of ages, much of it decayed beyond recognition. They'd ended up dumping some of the junk – mostly machinery long past any possible use and suitable only for recycling – into the gravity well of the nearby gas giant.

"What do you think?"

"Well, there's about sixty tonnes of ores, mostly platinum and iridium, about three percent yield. Those are quite valuable – platinum trades at about a thousand credits the kilo if it's properly assayed, and iridium is more expensive still. Those ores would yield about two tons of the stuff."

"That's two million credits, Morgan."

"Less the cost of smelt, transport to a forgeworld, imperial duties for assay, and so on. Still it would be reasonable to expect a quarter of a million for the raw ores, at least. Depending on the world in question, and the supply of heavy metals, we might get up to half a million. Of course, if we were able to sell a suit of power armour we would easily get a hundred times that, but then we might have to answer quite a few very awkward questions."

Sara blinked. Fifty million credits? He had to be joking. "They're that expensive?"

"Like all military equipment, yes. These even more so because they're no longer made, are immaculate, properly maintained and fully functional, and new ones can only be manufactured by astartes chapters. But it is not an option; the only buyers would be very very dodgy indeed, or imperial agents. Neither would be safe to deal with. As it is, we should be thankful that Calgar was good enough to endorse this ship as 'salvage' in your name. It's not every day even the most prestigious citizens are allowed access to a ship like this for personal business; to own one is almost unheard of, except for the very richest and most ancient noble families."

"I thought she was obsolete?"

"She is. But she's still a strike destroyer, and one that is so automated as to be controllable by the three of us, well, let's just say that makes her unique. For the record, the old girl is four point seven six kilometres long, masses fourteen million, seven hundred and forty-three thousand tonnes unladen, can carry up to three companies of astartes marines or four thousand other troops, plus all their equipment, and has sufficient fire-power to destroy a fully shielded hive city in a single broadside, or a planetary surface in ten. This class of ship is well-enough thought of that the Raven Guard still retain one in service after ten thousand years. Her build cost new would be more than an entire decade's production of your homeworld. And she is, officially, your ship. Your personal property." He chuckled. "You had better stay alive, Sara. Janey's children – and their children, and theirs – would still be paying off the death taxes on this ship in five centuries time."

She pulled a face. "Thank you. I think. But she's your ship, regardless of what the Imperium may or may not record. I make no decisions on her without your agreement, Morgan."

He nodded with a certain, she thought, satisfaction; she was getting better at reading him. "There is truth and there is law, and they are rarely the same. So, do we find a close-by world to sell the ores?"

She nodded again. "I think so. Whatever else we may be doing – and I'm no more sure of that than you are – we need to at least appear to be a legitimate trader. Anyway, I'd quite like to take Janey somewhere special for her birthday – there have to be some planets which are peaceful and safe."

Sedreth laughed. "In a galaxy this size, of course there are. How accurately have you fixed our location?"

"Within a couple of systems; I will be certain by tomorrow. But we are quite close to the Devsparts system, I think, which is a mining colony serving the forgeworld Actinus VII. And that in turn is at the hub of a very large, very prosperous, trading sector."

"Then, Sara, we shall see what we can arrange for our favourite girl's birthday." They looked at each other with identical smiles. Sedreth did not mention his other projects, preferring to keep his thoughts to himself for now.


	10. Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

Sedreth smiled gravely. It was done. He checked the workmanship one last time, finally satisfied. He picked up the heavy flat metal and carefully wrapped it in a battle flag recovered from a long-abandoned locker room. Flicking on his comm-unit he spoke quietly.

"Sara, Janey, would you both meet me in the chapel?"

Two puzzled acknowledgements came back and he felt his mouth twist in a grimace. He did not want to hurt his two companions more than they had been already, but necessity was sometimes a harsh taskmaster. He pulled on his formal armour-robe and walked quietly along the corridor to the gleaming wooden doors, opening them both wide and walking up to the plain altar. Unlike more modern vessels, _Phoenix_'s chapel was designed as a place of remembrance rather than of worship, the long rows of marble columns and tattered battle banners a tangible reminder of the warriors who had long ago fought and died for their Emperor either as part of the Legion or alongside it.

He placed his burden on the altar-piece, turned and waited, his keen hearing noting the faint sounds of the lift and soft footsteps in the wide corridor.

"Hi, Mr Morgan. What's up?" said Janey as she bounced in beside her mother. "Why d'you have your robe on?"

He nodded formally. "It is past time that we, that I, did something to ensure that you have more than a simple memory of your father, Janey. If you would both take a seat?"

They both looked puzzled, and he noted how Janey's brightness faded at the mention of her father. He stepped to the small raised platform and looked down at the two people he had come to consider companions.

"We are here in this honoured place to make recognisance of Kanret Smitsen, who gave his life gallantly to protect his comrades and his world. I, Morgan Sedreth, never met this man, yet I see before me the truth of him. He must have been a loving father and husband, else his wife and daughter would not be as strong and loving as they are; I know that he was a loyal and true friend, for his companions of the Imperial Guard were aggrieved at his death. I see before me a wife and daughter in whom the virtues of humanity are self-evident, and I know that Kanret Smitsen could not engender the grief of his family were he any less than they. I bear witness to the words of his captain who stated that without his warning – a warning given at the cost of his own life – none of his companions would have survived. I state before these witnesses that Kanret Smitsen gave his life for his Emperor, for his world and most of all to protect his family from evil. He was not astartes, but faced enemies sufficient to give astartes pause without flinching, his last action to stand against traitors to the Emperor and give warning to his brethren of the Guard. I state that he is worthy of remembrance in this place, that he fought and died as bravely as any of the warriors likewise remembered here, and that in their company he will not be found wanting."

He stepped down and lifted the wrapped package from its place in the centre of the silver altar-block, unwrapping it slowly and carrying it to the two crying quietly in the front pew. They stared in wonderment at the golden plaque. '_Kanret Smitsen, private, Imperial Guard, Canth system, 3719672M41, 672-09-08_' it read, inlaid black beneath an incised Imperial aquila. Sedreth let them look at it for a few moments, then walked over to an empty arch and knelt, pressing the metal to the marble column and rewarded with a bright silver light as the reactive substances fixed it forever in place. He stepped back and gave a formal salute, then, gently touching the bowed heads of his ship-mates, he walked out of the chapel.

* * *

He was running scans when two small arms wrapped round his leg. He looked down at an upturned face, eyes still slightly puffy despite the shy half-smile.

"Janey?"

"Mummy and me spoke a bit. I wanted to say thank you."

"It was my honour and privilege, Janey. Your father saved many lives. Long before mankind left Terra for the first time, a very wise man once said, 'Greater love hath no man than he place his mortal body between his home and war's destruction.' Your father's last act was to try and protect the world and family he loved. That is worthy of honour from much better men than I."

"I miss him," the small voice trembled on the verge of tears. Sedreth gently lifted the tiny form into his chair.

Grey-blue eyes met brown as he spoke gently and seriously. "Janey, the people we love never really leave us. They're always right with us, in our memories and our hearts."

"Do you miss your friends?"

He nodded. "Very much. I miss Ethaniel more than I can say; he and I were as close as brothers for a hundred centuries. But it's hard; I have to try and remember the good things, rather than the evil things we did. I wonder – now, I never did before – about my brothers who died when Horus betrayed his own men – who fought on what side. I think, I hope, that most of my company fought and died bravely with Captain Tarvitz. I have searched the databanks for the drop assignments, but cannot find them, only the traces of a deletion."

"What's 'deleeshun'?"

"It means the records were destroyed. It was standard practice to have a back-up copy, but that has been removed, shortly before the drop, I think. Why, I do not know."

"Maybe someone hid it?"

He smiled gravely. "It is possible, but where? On a ship this size there are many places to hide something small, like a data record."

She nodded. "I s'pose. Mr Morgan, can we work on our project today?"

"Yes, Janey. I think we can." He set her down gently, more grateful than he would have considered possible to see the smile on her face.

* * *

"Good morning, Janey," said Sedreth as he casually served up three plates – one rather larger and fuller than the other two – of yellow and white scrambled eggs, pink and brown and spicy-smelling bacon, and fat sizzling brown sausages. He helped himself to four slices of toast with butter and took a long drink from his very large goblet of fruit juice.

"Wow, Mr Morgan. You've got loads."

"I have a proper astartes appetite this morning. Besides which I rather enjoy an occasional cooked breakfast," he replied, loading his plate with popping black and grey fungi. "Marine rations are all very well, but a change is welcome. It is not necessary to have special mineral supplements every day, even for someone as old as me."

She giggled and pulled a face. "Marine rations are pooey."

He chuckled softly. "They do tend to taste rather like box-board. Eat up, little one. We have a lot to do today."

Sara smiled. "Yes. I'm still not entirely sure what you mean by 'a lot' but I suspect it's rather more than a few chores."

He smiled silently, chewing in a satisfied manner. Sara's eyes held amused suspicion to which his expression showed bland innocence.

"Sara, could you come to the armoury, please? I need your help." Sedreth's voice gave no hints about the kind of help, but Sara sighed inwardly. Another session of drudge work, probably; they'd done more than a few of those over the past couple of days while waiting for the nav computer to determine their location with enough accuracy to dare the Warp. She levered herself out of her chair and took up the remote alarm/command wand, then headed for the lift.

Sedreth was fussing with yet another suit of power armour when she walked in. He looked round and smiled. "Ah, there you are. I have a problem with this."

She looked unamused. "Morgan, you have forgotten more about marine armour than I will ever know."

He nodded. "True. But I still need your help with this set," he said as she approached. "What do you think of it?"

She looked at the armour more closely. It looked quite like the other suits, although more modern, somehow. "Uhm, mark VI?"

He nodded again. "An adaptation of it, yes. I removed the cross-strapped front cabling; that can be vulnerable in action. More to the point, it hides the aquila."

"I thought you didn't serve the Imperium?" She knew her voice was teasing and smiled slightly.

"I don't. The aquila is the Emperor's sigil, not the Imperium's."

"I like the cloak. Is that another adaptation?"

He lifted the heavy, fine, black fabric with its silvery flame-like edging. "Yes, I do too. Janey did a good job on it. And of course, it's ballistic cloth, so it will absorb impact from behind."

She nodded, pleased that Janey had been able to help the astartes. "It's impressive. Beautiful, even. So how can I help you with it? I presume not just with my opinion?"

He gave a wicked smile and nodded to Janey who sat on a bench with her 'I have a secret' smile. She bounced up. "No, mummy. We want you to try it on."

Sara looked at her daughter stupidly. "What?"

"Try it on," said the marine. "It's taken us a couple of months to make a suit that would fit you, and we'd rather like to know that it's a good match."

Sara blinked. "This is for me?"

They nodded. "Don't you like it, mummy?" came the small voice from her waist.

She looked at the armour again. More closely. The shoulder-plate, the right one, bore a name. 'Sara', was written, no, carved into the gold in Imperial Gothic script, inked in a black so deep she could almost have drowned in it. The left shoulder-plate bore the same taloned wing that Morgan's armour bore, also done in solid golden metal. "Oh, Emperor. This is for me? To wear? To fight in?"

"You said you did not feel comfortable in Sister Agnetha's armour. This will not fight you; this is marine armour. Even if the marine in question is rather smaller than most. It is fighting armour; Emperor's Children armour. For my battle-sister." The deep voice held a certain emotion she'd not heard before. Janey tugged at her hand.

"Come on, mummy. You need to try on the under-armour, first."

Sara let herself be led through into the changing room she and Janey used. On a stand hung a body-suit of black material, the Emperor's aquila glinting gold on the left breast. She looked at the anxious little girl and suddenly smiled.

"This was what you and Morgan were working on, isn't it?"

The dark curls nodded, briefly hiding big anxious eyes. "Do you like it, mummy?"

"It's beautiful, darling. Come on, help me get into it."

Janey's answering smile was the widest she'd seen in more than a year.

Sedreth was waiting for them when she walked out in the skin-tight outfit. He nodded and walked around her.

"Excellent. The opening is precisely where it ought to be."

"Uhm, yes. Why is there an opening there?"

He touched the skin of her back gently. "Marine armour has internal fittings designed to inject a mixture of endorphins, clotting agents and adrenaline into the wearer. This enables an astartes to fight on even through major injury. I know of marines who were able to fight on despite having lost limbs. While I would not expect you to do so, and trust you will never need to, your armour includes a similar device, so that you will not be disabled quickly through shock or bleed-out. In a similar manner, the cloth you are wearing is the same anti-ballistic and flame-retardant material used by Sisters of Battle where they are not protected by armour. Where I have several genetic and physiological modifications, you do not. This will provide you with additional protection to make up for some of that lack. Your cloak is of the same material."

She looked at him.

"What that means is that when you get in to your armour, you will feel a small prick in your back as you power up. That is the anti-shock injector. It will keep you conscious so that you can teleport out safely even if badly injured."

"Oh," she replied faintly, "I see."

It was like something out of a dream, or a fable, she thought. She, Sara Smitsen, a woman of no special talents or background, had her own set of powered battle armour. She couldn't stop looking at herself in the mirror. The Emperor's aquila, two-headed and proud, shone gold on her chest-plate, enhanced by the glossy purple background. She looked down at her merrily grinning daughter. "It's wonderful, darling. Really it is. I feel … special, and so blessed."

Sedreth chuckled. "You do_ now_. You will feel differently once we have begun fitting it properly to you. Without a techmarine's specialised enhancements, nor the neural implants of an astartes marine, the calibrations will have to be done manually in order for you to get the full benefit of the armour's capabilities. That will not be a short or simple process. I suspect you will be tired and grumpy quite quickly."

She smiled at the big marine. "I can manage a little discomfort."

Sedreth only smiled silently, knowingly, back at her.

* * *

"Better," she said, sweeping her arm up to an offensive guard. "That feels right."

Sedreth nodded, and swung at her fast, his chainsword barely parried. Emperor! Even without his armour to enhance it, the power in the blow nearly drove her own blade from her hand; she leapt back, knocking his follow-up cut aside and down with enough force to scar the decking. He grinned, coming on guard again more cautiously.

This was their seventeenth session with blades in the last two days, each carefully recorded by Janey from multiple angles. And still Sedreth wasn't satisfied. It had taken them three weeks to fit the armour to a level he called acceptable, and since then it had been one combat practice after another, usually followed by more, though finer, adjustments. Blades, bolters, even heavy bolters, which were bigger than she was. Although she had to admit to a feeling of solidity when leaning back with the massive weapon on full auto and her armour semi-locked. Still, she was exhausted, tired and irritable, and prone to being very short with both Sedreth and her daughter.

She moved into a standard attack sequence, deviating suddenly and, she thought, without warning. It wasn't good enough. The astartes slid aside as her lightning-edged weapon split the air so close he must have felt the electricity of the energy field and his riposte slammed into her under the right arm, knocking her to her knees.

He stepped back. She glared at him as she rose again, wincing slightly. "How did you read that?"

"Experience. I have been doing this a long long time. Your move was good, but I had seen it before. And unlike many I am faster without armour than in it. You would have gutted a lesser swordsman."

She returned his salute, bringing the blade vertical for a fraction of stillness before sheathing it. "Are all space marines as good as you?" She tried not to let the doubt into her tone.

The big man shook his head. "Not at all. In all honesty there are no more than a handful of warriors who I would expect to lose to one on one. Lucius, Khârn, Abaddon, amongst the chaos legions, maybe a few others, perhaps a few of the better Imperial chapter champions, certain of the Eldar exarchs, the ork warboss Uruk Ghâzkul mak Thrakka, perhaps some other of the more powerful ork leaders. Very few, even in a galaxy as full of war and warriors as this one. Of course, against some types of opponent skill alone is not enough. No mortal could ever hope to defeat some of the most powerful tyranid types, for example."

"You killed a carnifex."

"With a bolter, while it was engaged with someone else and disoriented from a teleport. I would not wish to face one with only a blade."

"I'm never going to be as good as you, am I?"

He met her worried gaze with a casual smile. "Not unless you live to be several hundred years old. But do not let it worry you. You are already as good as any astartes scout. Better. If you were astartes your officers would be looking at you for promotion to the regular battle companies."

She looked down, uncomfortable with the praise. "It's strange. Sometimes I feel as if I'm not so much learning what you teach as remembering it."

Sedreth chuckled. "Perhaps you are doing exactly that. Sara, you were part of a miracle; the Emperor Himself touched your mind. He may not be a god, but He is far beyond any human. On the other hand." He hesitated, a faint smile on his face.

"On the other hand, what?"

"On the other hand you may simply be a natural warrior. It is not _entirely_ unheard of, even amongst women. The ancient saying about the female of the species being more deadly than the male has rung true more often than not. Ah, there you are, Janey. Did you get good recordings?"

The tiny girl grinned up at him. "Yes, Mr Morgan."

"Excellent. Then I think it is time we ate."

* * *

a/n I rarely put notes in my fics, but, for those familiar the phrase, I would just like to point out that the awful song with the chorus 'the female of the species is more deadlier than than the male' a) plagiarises Rudyard Kipling, and b) fails to get the basics of English grammar correct. 'Deadlier' means 'more deadly', so 'more deadlier' despite being typical of certain regional English dialects is in effect saying 'more more deadly'. Kipling, of course, used 'more deadly'. Which is one reason why he won the Nobel prize for literature and the morons who wrote and sang the song in question never will.

Of course it is also true; the female of the species - especially the human species - is much more deadly than the male. As anyone who has ever truly angered a woman can attest.


	11. Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten

To any observer, it would have been an eye-wrenching sight. Space seemed to open, the very fabric of reality twisting to reveal a monstrous tear, nigh on half an AU across, edged with glowing light in colours that described description. At the centre of this rip appeared a monstrous spaceship, dwarfed by the rip-writhing opening that centred itself about her, but somehow enhanced rather than diminished by it. Her lines were Imperial, yet not, plain where Imperial vessels were ostentatious, clean where crenellations and gargoyles and towering decorative spires would be expected, and with a flared bow which resembled the ploughshare of Imperial warships reversed. Yet the overall form was unmistakably human in origin, as if some great ocean had taken an Imperial warship and rolled it in its tides like a pebble, wearing smooth the decoration until all that was left was cold precise functionality. The vessel was somehow menacing and reassuring simultaneously. But there were no observers, only cold machines which recorded the entrance of a ship into their domain and reported. Purple lightnings flashed around the great ship as the tear in reality closed itself. _Eyes of the Phoenix_ re-entered realspace.

On the bridge, the small crew looked at each other. Sara broke the silence with a business-like comment.

"Re-entry complete. Warp transit successful." Her calm tone couldn't quite hide the relief.

Sedreth stood. "You and I had better get down to the cargo bays and ready the ores for transport. I have no intention of letting some nameless dock crew aboard."

She smiled. "Me neither. Janey, I have all standard courses laid in. It should be exactly like the sim runs. The autopilot should be able to take us into dock unless there is a serious problem. If you're worried, call me, okay?"

The girl grinned back at her mother. "Okay, mummy. An' I'll remember to use the voice filter so I sound older."

The two adults nodded. "We're counting on you, Janey. Be sure to call us if anything at all unusual happens," said Sedreth.

She nodded, very serious. "I promise." A light blinked on the comms board and she turned to it.

"_Eyes of the Phoenix_, comm officer speaking."

The other two looked at each other as Janey waved a hand in dismissal, then, smiling at each other, headed for the lifts.

* * *

Sub-controller Harbin Gottshalk noted the beacon indicator. An unscheduled arrival. He reached for the supervisor alarm. Not that supervisor Mittel would bother. As usual. Once again he cursed the luck that had stuck him in this backwater straight after graduation. He'd thought that applying for the Exploration Service arm of the Controller's Guild would give him a chance of the unusual and exciting. What he'd got was a three-year tour on the mining colony of Devspart IV, set up only a generation ago. Set up, he reminded himself sourly while cursing the blank ident screen, with minimal funding and obsolete equipment.

He reached for the com, and spoke into the pick-up.

"This is Devspart control to unidentified vessel. Please transmit your ident."

A voice came back, female, and quite light. A young woman, he guessed. Perhaps she'd be good-looking and her ship here for a while. "Devspart control, this is rogue trader vessel _Eyes of the Phoenix_, standard registration _epsilon-76, 0001-delta, 29-sigma, gamma-79_, captain Sara Tarken commanding, requesting docking clearance. We have ores for trade and request the assistance of an assay team equipped for Iridium-group metals."

Gottshalk blinked. Epsilon? That was a warship code. He buzzed Supervisor Mittel again and spoke into the pick-up. "Acknowledged, _Eyes of the Phoenix_. Take standard lane three to dock at berth four-alpha."

"Devspart control, we copy that. Lane three, berth four-alpha. Reducing speed to insystem standard, point one seven _c_. Estimated arrival at dock six hours and forty-three minutes. _Phoenix_ out."

Gottshalk sat back and looked at the screens in front of him. He reached for the intercom to supervisor Mittel.

* * *

Captain Ashfer Sernye sighed at the pile of paperwork sitting obstinately in his in-tray. No matter how many reports he filed, there were always more. The Guard ran on reports almost as much as on energy cells. Reluctantly, he called up the reports menu system, the familiar fields waiting patiently for his input. The com-light blinked and he opened the channel with a sense of relief. Supervisor Mittel's chubby balding face appeared onscreen, looking worried.

"Captain Sernye? Supervisor Mittel, traffic control here. We have a suspicious vessel in approach. It is registered to a rogue trader captain, one Sara Tarken, but appears to be a warship."

Sernye looked at the information on his screen. Registration number _epsilon-76, 0001-delta, 29-sigma, gamma-79_. Hmm. He knew epsilon meant a warship and sigma meant astartes. He didn't recognise epsilon-76 though. He looked back at Mittel. Yes, the man was definitely worried.

"Any unusual communications?"

"No, captain, but the library doesn't recognise the registration. And while we don't have a visual, we have a mass reading. It's the size of a light cruiser, about fifteen million tonnes."

Hmm. The normal size range of rogue trader vessels was around a fifth of that even at the top end of converted warships. No wonder Mittel was worried. The thing was half the size of the station. If it was an actual warship and hostile they were in trouble.

"Anything else about it?"

"Well, captain, as I recall it, the first digits of the third pair indicate the year of manufacture. If I'm right," he paused, and Sernye looked at his hesitant vid image for a second before indicating he should continue. Mittel was usually right; there was very little the man didn't know about ship codes. "If I'm right, that ship dates from the 29th millenium. It's almost older than the Imperium."

"Sigma indicates a space marine vessel, doesn't it, supervisor?"

"Yes, captain, it does. But I've had some dealings with space marines before; they've never failed to inform traffic control in my experience. Usually the ranking officer will make contact. And I've never heard of space marines trading before."

"You suspect pirates?" Or worse, he thought. A ship dating from the Great Crusade, perhaps. That could mean..., he felt his pulse quicken and only training and discipline kept the horrified thought from his face. "Very well. I'll alert my company. Bring the station weapons to readiness, but do not fire without my express authorisation. I shall contact the governor."

So much for boredom.

* * *

"Mr Morgan?" Janey's voice came over the internal speakers; she was using the general address.

"Yes, Janey?" He answered to the air, knowing the audio pickups would catch and relay his reply.

"Mr Morgan, the station is showing a large power spike. I ran general scan. It says they're powering weapons. What do I do?"

"Hmm. Are we on course?" asked Sara.

"Yes, mummy. Standard lane three to external dock alpha-four. Should I do anything else?"

Sedreth looked at Sara's questioning expression and shook his head. "No, Janey Continue on course. But you can contact traffic control and report that our scans indicate a power spike and do they require assistance?"

* * *

Arnos Mittel watched the vid image intently. Wavering and fuzzed it may have been, consequence of the equipment available to an underfunded and young mining colony, but it was unmistakeably a warship. Devsparts being far off the beaten track and devoid of habitable worlds it was rare that Mittel was required to deal with traffic incidents; the only military ships in the system were half a dozen light interceptors – good enough for police duties but irrelevant against the monster on his vidlink – and a handful of miner craft which bobbed about the star system's three asteroid belts, some of which had self-defence weaponry. An Imperial Navy corvette made regular monthly visits, but in effect system defence was limited to the antiquated weaponry of the station itself. Which, he reflected, would barely scratch the shields on a warship that size.

He looked round at a flurry of activity in the normally near-deserted corridor outside the equally empty station scan section. Half a dozen of the station's regular Guard garrison took up position at the entrance as their commander walked in with a business-like brusqueness. Mittel rather liked the young captain; Sernye was competent and sensible, paid attention to his job and his men, and mostly left the running of the station to the governor and the administrative staff. Which meant that, unlike some previous garrison commanders, he rarely got in Mittel's thinning hair. Now, however, he could see that behind the professional exterior captain Sernye was worried.

"Supervisor Mittel," nodded the man by way of greeting. "The governor has given me full authority to handle this. Have you more information on this mysterious warship?"

"No, captain. They queried us about the energy spike when the station's weapons came online, but have not – that we can detect – powered up shields or weapons themselves. So far their approach has been immaculately normal."

"I see. Do we have visual?"

"Yes, captain." Mittel indicated the image he'd been watching. He didn't interrupt the other man as he took a long look at the source of their mutual worry.

"It's definitely a warship. Have they transmitted this Tarken's rogue trader licence?"

Mittel looked questioningly at sub-controller Gottshalk. That worthy shook his head. "Not yet, sir. They're normally presented at dock."

"I think we should ask for it, then. Even if they're legitimate, I want to see who would hand over a ship like that to a rogue trader captain. And if the licence is faked, we can open fire. I have the interceptor squadron at ready."

Mittel nodded. "Do it." Gottshalk hurried to obey.

Janey listened to the control tech's voice. "Acknowledged Devsparts control. Stand by to receive securitised transmission."

She called up the menu on the comms station, pleased that mummy and Mr Morgan had thought of this in advance and that she knew how to do it. She hit the control key with a small smile, feeling very grown-up.

"Thank you, _Eyes of the Phoenix_," said Gottshalk. "Stand by for affirmation."

Mittel looked at the boy. Barely out of training. Still, he was remaining calm and sensible. A good point to go in his next assessment. If there _was _a next assessment. He called up the signal file and keyed in his authorisation; Gottshalk didn't have one for securitised transmissions yet. He blinked. That couldn't be correct. He ran the sequence again. By the Throne!

"Captain, you better take a look at this. You wanted to know who would authorise a warship like that to a rogue trader captain? There's your answer."

Sernye leaned over. "This can't be right?"

Mittel gave a twisted smile. "I ran it twice. That seal cannot be faked, as far as I know."

Sernye looked at him. "Have you seen it before?"

"No. But I have seen something similar, on a courier vessel. This captain Tarken must be an agent of the Ultramarines."

"That ship could carry a whole company of space marines."

Mittel's smile grew wider, partly in relief. "Then you had better arrange to meet their commander. And inform the governor."

Sernye paused. "They asked for an assay team?"

"Yes, they said they had ores for trade. Iridium group metals, sir," said Gottshalk.

The Guardsman thought for a few seconds. "Then they are travelling incognito. Relatively. They have not indicated the presence of space marines or asked for our assistance. So we shall act as if they are a perfectly normal trader-ship. I will keep the station weapons powered up and ready, and some of my men will be out on the dock, but let's keep this as low-key as possible for as long as possible."

Mittel nodded. That was sensible. But if that ship was what he feared it might be,... he shook himself. No. Lord Commander Calgar's personal seal was not fake-able. The ship was genuine. An agent of the Ordo Astartes. He found his pulse racing.

* * *

Janey sat on the comfy cushion she'd added to mummy's pilot chair, watching the lines on the screen as the numbers counted slowly down to the next course change. She was so engrossed by the read-outs that she barely paid attention to the system and the upcoming station orbiting its ball of ice and rock. She was receiving the station beacon now, the guidance signal that would ensure _Phoenix_ docked precisely, machine talking to machine faster than any human could hope to.

She smiled as the numbers reached zero and hit the control; the engines rumbled far away and the ancient ship started to slow rapidly, from tens of kilometres per second to kilometres per second to the metres per second needed to guide its mass precisely to the external docking connections without wrecking the station.

Janey opened the comms again. "Devsparts control, this is _Eyes of the Phoenix_. Entering final approach."

A new voice came back. "We copy, _Eyes of the Phoenix_. Please stand by for customs check at dock."

Customs check? Oh, right. "Acknowledged, control. Customs check on docking. _Phoenix_ out." She cut the connection and opened the intercom.

"Mummy, they want a customs check when we dock."

Mummy's voice came back over the speaker. "Alright, darling. Are we in final approach?"

"Yes, mummy. Nine minutes to dock."

"That's fine, darling. Can you handle the umbilicals?"

She nodded, forgetting that mummy couldn't see. "That's menu four just like you tol' me. Yes, mummy, as long as they're standard. We're receiving final guidance now, an' all systems are green. An' there's no alert showing. So I think they must be."

"Right. The two of us are in lower main now. We'll meet the customs inspectors once we're locked down."

"Okay, mummy."

* * *

Sernye stood on the dockside watching the mysterious vessel inch into its assigned dock less than two hundred metres in front of him. Emperor, but it was big. He'd served on capital ships before, but he'd never watched one dock from this point of view, or from this close to. The massive hull bore almost no decoration, just an enormous aquila on the high control tower and a highly unusual prow which resembled a bird in flight rather than the ploughshare of a normal warship. He took a few seconds to realise that the usual ploughshare bow was there, but had been turned upside down and carved into a raptor-shape, with a great eagle's head and flared wings. The typical architectural decorations and gothic installations appeared to have been removed as well, but the rows of heavy artillery along the long broadside appeared to be intact, from what he could tell, retreating behind a sequence of closing armoured hatches as the ship extended two enormous grapples from its bow, almost like the claws of some enormous bird of prey. The blank metal eye of the figurehead seemed to meet his gaze with idle, contemptuous power and he shivered slightly. Whoever had designed this ship had meant it to impress.

The deck under his feet trembled faintly as a ship massing half the station touched with a feather-touch perfection. Perfect dock, precisely perpendicular to the station. Whoever the pilot was, they were superlative.

He walked forward with a squad of his best troopers as the umbilicals locked into place, cables extending to offer water and oxygen and power, and to take off wastes and exhaust gasses. A long ramp extruded itself from the ship's prow. There was a pause of several seconds before a section of the bow split apart. A slender brown-haired woman wearing a headset and casual jacket over slightly dusty overalls strolled down the ramp and looked round. She looked a little tired and sweaty, with a faint patina of rock-dust lightly darkening her skin.

Sernye stepped forward to the crew-woman. "I am captain Sernye, Imperial Guard. Where is captain Tarken?"

The woman smiled briefly. "I'm Sara Tarken, captain. I presume you are here regarding the customs check?" She met his eyes with a sardonic humour.

He blinked, then nodded. "Indeed, captain. If you could have your crew," he paused as a huge purple-armoured figure walked down the ramp followed by a series of trolleys – he recognised ammunition transports – piled with containers of rocks. The space marine ignored him and his men, stepping onto the station deck and deftly marshalling the little train into a perfectly straight line.

Tarken spoke quietly. "We are not intending to stay, captain, and I was not entirely sure about your local regulations, so I had the trade goods brought to dockside for your inspection. However, I don't want to further misuse the munitions loaders. Is your assay team at hand? I would like to be rid of these ores as quickly as may be." She suddenly grinned. "Assuming I can get a decent price."

Sernye looked at her, not understanding her sudden humour. "I am sure that the assay team will be here directly, captain. Might I enquire as to where you got these ores?"

A deep voice spoke from behind him. "Pirates, captain. Pirates who will no longer trouble the innocent. Where they got them in the first place is a matter of conjecture."

He turned to the towering space marine. "I see. Uhm."

"Brother-sergeant Sedreth, captain Sernye. Captain Tarken, I shall remain on guard until you are finished here."

The woman nodded. "Of course, brother-sergeant. Thank you for your assistance."

The warrior's helmeted head nodded once and he walked – marched – up the ramp and took position at the ship's still-open entranceway, his bolter held crosswise across his chest, facing down the ramp towards the dock. Sernye noticed that the man's armour bore a great white feather, affixed to the front corner of his left shoulder-plate by a huge, glittering ruby. He wondered what it signified. He turned his attention back to the woman waiting politely at his side.

She held his gaze without threat. "The customs check, captain? "

He nodded. "Of course. Most thoughtful of you, captain Tarken. How long do you intend to remain in system?"

"No more than it takes to sell the ores. I have business elsewhere, specifically a special treat for my daughter on her birthday. She has never seen the ocean and the resort in the Plett system is famed for its beauty."

Plett docking fees ran to thousands per day, Sernye knew. "That is your next intended port of call?" This woman must be wealthy; no surprise there.

She nodded. "Unless something dictates otherwise."

"You are a long way from Ultramar, captain."

She nodded again, the brown eyes unreadable. "Yes. Are there any administrative formalities I need to go through?"

Sernye shook his head. "No, captain. The customs check was merely an excuse to determine your _bona fides_. Welcome to Devsparts."

"Very well. In that case, the sooner that assay team arrives the better." She looked along the dock. Two distant groups of figures were heading in their direction, one on foot, and the other, larger, group on a liveried transport sled. That group wore the guild robes of Merchants and Traders. She looked down at her casual jacket with a rueful expression and spoke into her headset.

"Janey, can you look out my dress uniform? I appear to be underdressed." She smiled briefly. "I shall return directly, captain."

Sernye nodded in instinctive response and watched her walk up the ramp, past the armoured sentinel and into the dark opening. The space marine followed. Interesting. He watched the guild transport approach with well-disguised loathing. Parasites. He schooled his face to immobility as the vehicle pulled up and disgorged its be-robed passengers. The foremost looked round, then came over to speak with him. He eyed the fat balding man without expression.

"Captain Sernye."

"Guild member Cathkert."

"I was given to understand that a trader captain had docked with ores for sale?"

"Indeed. The ores are there," Sernye gestured, "awaiting the assay team. Captain Tarken had to return to her ship for a moment. That is the vessel."

Cathkert did not look pleased and turned to face the ramp. His mouth opened slightly. Credit the man, he recovered swiftly. "I see. We passed the assay team on the dock. I do hope this captain Tarken will not keep us waiting."

Sernye said nothing. Cathkert returned to his group of hangers-on and flunkies, throwing dark looks at the silent vessel.

It was not, in actuality, very long before Sara Tarken walked back down the ramp to the dock, though from the Guild representatives' expressions it could have been a lifetime. She had however clearly dressed to impress, in a sleek black jacket and trousers with matching silver-trimmed cloak. She was also armed, a heavy hand-gun in an open thigh holster all chased in silver and embossed with a single golden wing on the dark leather grip. Sernye recognised an astartes-issue bolt pistol, although he doubted if any of the traders and money-men behind him would. Her hair was brushed back and her face clean, though devoid of cosmetics. He noticed that she had a faint scar on her left cheek; it did nothing to detract from her physical beauty, but added to the air of cold martial competence.

He nodded to her as she walked past him towards the be-robed guildsmen. She gave an equally formal nod before Cathkert hurried forward.

"Captain Tarken? I am Sedajou Cathkert, and I represent the Guild of Merchant Bankers. Welcome to Devsparts. I am given to understand you have items you intend to trade here?"

"Indeed, banker Cathkert," answered the woman gravely. "As you can see, I have a small quantity of Iridium-group ores which I wish to dispose of. I requested an assay team be available once we had docked."

Cathkert nodded, and indicated the small group of overalled and slightly grubby workers standing holding various complex-looking instruments. "Accredited with the Guild of Miners, captain. Being a mining colony, we have a constant need for their expertise."

Tarken smiled briefly as she walked the balding fat man over to the dozen transports. "Excellent. Our own scans indicated that the ores were of more than one planet, and varied in estimated yield between 3 and 4.2 percent Iridium with elements of Platinum and less useful metals varying from point four to point eight percent. I was fortunate that brother-sergeant Sedreth felt the need for some extra exercise, so we have sorted them by approximate yield, from farthest to nearest as we stand. Obviously, we had only standard scans rather than your peoples' specialised equipment, but we thought it might be useful, not knowing the level of technical expertise available at such a new colony."

Cathkert, waddling along beside her rapier-slim elegance, nodded. "Most thoughtful of you, captain. Am I to gather you did not mine the ores yourself, then?"

She shook her head slightly. "No. They were once in the possession of pirate raiders. In this case, of course, the raiders in question are no longer a threat." Her tone was dismissive, and Sernye wondered where she had gained such sang-froid so young. Cathkert, however, looked alarmed.

"You are certain?"

She chuckled. "Oh, yes. That particular raiding group is very very dead. However the sale of their loot will off-set our munitions costs. Marginally."

Cathkert looked marginally less worried. "And did you contact the Navy, captain?"

She looked at him. "Of course not. Another raider more or less is a minor matter. But I would not worry myself, Banker Cathkert. They were far away from here. Now, can we begin the assay?"

The Banker nodded, his jowls wobbling. "Of course, captain. This is assayer supervisor Dev of the Miner's Guild, and techpriest Aknetrin of the Adeptus Mechanicus. Gentlemen, this is captain Tarken, whose goods will be examined here."

Both men nodded politely, the robed and hooded techpriest seeming to take her in at a single glance, the miner more open and less suspicious. The ship captain was detached and polite, watching with quiet attention as the assay team went about their business.

* * *

Sara watched the assay team as they moved swiftly and efficiently from load to load. The techpriest, Aknetrin, stood beside her, also watching closely, although she could feel his attention on her. Miner Dev supervised his team with quiet commands; it was obvious he'd done this many times.

It was Aknetrin who broke the silence. "Captain, those are very unusual loaders."

She looked at him. "Munitions loaders, regrettably pressed into service. I do not carry ores on a regular basis."

Cathkert broke in from behind her, a writing slate in his hands and a glitter of greed in his eyes. "It is a great pity, captain. Those ores might prove expensive to refine, but offer a good yield to those with the facilities. More would offer a considerable profit."

Aknetrin looked at him. "You are correct, Banker Cathkert." His voice was faintly metallic, courtesy of the rebreather built into his throat. "The ores contain in total three point seven three four eight five six tonnes of Iridium recoverable with the facilities at this station." He paused for a moment, as if consulting elsewhere. "The Adeptus Mechanicus will offer two point two four three credits per gram on refinement, or one point three nine two credits unrefined," he said matter-of-factly.

Sara nodded and looked enquiringly at Cathkert who was suddenly sweating profusely as he fiddled with his data slate. The banker looked unhappy. "I am sorry, captain, I cannot match that offer; the refinement charges prevent it."

She nodded again and looked at the techpriest. "Five million one hundred and ninety-nine thousand, more or less. Hmm. Call it five million two hundred thousand for the ores, honoured techpriest, and you have a deal."

"That is acceptable. Banker Cathkert, you will witness the transaction."

"Honoured," said the fat man, looking unhappy.

Sara smiled briefly. "I will need to partially re-provision; fresh fruit and vegetables and fresh meat. I presume that you can direct me to a suitable chandler or agent, Banker Cathkert?"

The banker brightened slightly. "It will be a pleasure, captain. Will you require a credit line? The Adeptus Mechanicus payment will take few hours to process and I believe you mentioned munitions?"

She chuckled softly. "I shall have to arrange munitioning with suitable Imperial authorities, banker, as _Phoenix_'s main batteries are slightly down on normal capacity and I like to keep stocked up. I doubt if class V and VI munitions are something that a young colony has great store of. I will need to make other arrangements for those. But bolter ammunition and promethium never go amiss, so if such are immediately available I shall place a small order. Assuming that does not degrade your own defensive facilities of course."

"You require class VI munitions?" The techpriest sounded, so far as it was possible to tell, surprised.

Sara nodded, inwardly cursing her slip. "For the main batteries. We used up a fair amount recently."

The man nodded slowly. "Against pirates? They must have been well-armed."

She shrugged casually, and took the data slate from Cathkert, reading the transfer swiftly and nodding. "That seems to be in order." She signed, the light pen leaving a slight trail in her vision, and passed it across to Aknetrin, who glanced briefly at the slate and signed in his turn, affixing a formal seal. Cathkert retrieved it from the metal-augmented hand and affixed his own seal to the slate.

"You perhaps have a personal seal, captain?"

She shook her head. "No."

"Then our business is concluded," said Aknetrin. "A pleasure doing business, captain."

"Likewise. Emperor's grace on you, techpriest."

She watched as the dark-robed techpriest walked over to the loaders with their heavy cargoes. He remained there, unmoving, while several sturdy-looking heavy cargo loaders arrived with their crews and the ores were removed from _Eyes of the Phoenix_'s munitions loaders, then left without a word. She looked to Cathkert, who was busy with his data slate.

"Are your requirements met, Banker?"

"Indeed, captain. A credit line of half a million credits has been arranged, with access to a further half million on demand. Naturally once the credit payment from the Adeptus Mechanicus has passed, a matter of perhaps a dozen hours, you will have access to the remainder."

"That will be adequate. There are several chandlers offering re-supply here; can you recommend a couple?"

The fat banker smiled sadly. "Unfortunately such references are outwith my remit; in fact they technically would break my Guild oath. But I am sure that whichever you select will prove adequate for your needs."

She nodded and accepted the data slate, signing it and receiving the credit note in return. Cathkert nodded at it.

"Highly unusual in most larger systems, captain, but given our facilities here the most efficient. It will take a short time to set up an account here for you, and longer to connect to our local network based on Plett. Your next port of call, you said?"

"Yes. My daughter will shortly turn eight, and she has not seen an ocean. Or rather, has not seen one except from orbit."

"Which is hardly the same thing, I agree. Once your business is completed, please come to our offices and I shall have all the necessary automatic systems set up."

"Most generous, banker. Until later then."

"Indeed. Until later, captain Tarken."

She nodded and walked back up the ramp to the sanctuary of her ship.

"Are you alright, Sara?" Sedreth's voice spoke out of the relative gloom before her eyes had adjusted after the brightness of the dock. She realised he was wearing a slightly different suit of armour, one of the Mark VI sets from the armoury. It made him look sinister somehow, the pointed 'corvus' helmet adding a level of predation that was not present in the Mark V he had worn for millennia. He must have noted her expression because he chuckled softly. "I thought it wise to give the impression of more than one astartes. This suit has never been worn before today."

She nodded. "It's hard. I keep remembering that I'm just a simple farmer's wife. I'm not comfortable with all this." She gestured at her clothing.

"I understand. But remember, they see what they expect to see. They see a warship, carrying space marines, and a ship captain carrying an astartes-issue bolt pistol with familiarity. They see a veteran warrior, not a farmer's wife. And Sara, they see more of the truth than you credit them. You _are_ a warrior of the Emperor."

She felt her mouth twist and schooled the distaste from her expression. "I know. But it doesn't make me feel any more comfortable about it."

His voice was calm. "Being a warrior is not a pleasant thing. But it _is_ a noble one, if the cause is just."

"It's easy to forget that."

"Yes. It is easy to get caught up in the martial aspect of your existence and forget that you are also a man. Or a woman."

"You feel sorry for them, don't you? The ones that still serve chaos."

"Yes. They were fine and noble men once. Killing them is a kindness, an end to a twisted, wretched existence. However, that is a discussion for another time. You need to visit the chandlers and munitions holders. Do you wish me to come with you?"

She shook her head. "No, I can manage. And who knows what archives of the Adeptus Mechanicus might still be held with that armour pattern in them. Safer if you stay aboard."

Sedreth's salute took her by surprise, but she responded by reflex, then smiled slightly and swung around, out the great portal and down the gangway.


	12. Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven

Sedreth watched the slender form as Sara walked back down the gangway to the dock. He turned at the sound of small feet behind him.

"Mr Morgan?" Janey looked serious but excited, her small face alight with an Idea. He smiled inside his helmet; Janey's Ideas were usually quite interesting.

"Yes, Janey?"

"You 'member you were looking for the drop lists? For your friends who died?"

"Yes. I thought they might have been hidden."

"I think I know where they might be hid." She looked straight at him with a slight smile. "'Cos I used to play at hiding stuff. It has to be somewhere easy to 'member, and somewhere no-one else would look, or find by accident."

He found himself nodding. "Indeed, Janey, that would be the ideal sort of hiding place."

"Well then, what part of the ship is never inspected even during a proper maintenance?"

He paused for thought and noticed she was looking down. At the... "The deck. The deck plates are rarely touched." A thought struck him. "But the plates are often lifted during maintenance checks."

She nodded, waiting as he went on slowly. "All except one. The name-plate."

"Yes!" She clapped her hands. "If _I _was hiding something very small, I'd put it under the name-plate. It'd be the safest place, and easiest to 'member."

He thought for a few seconds. Was it possible? "Janey, that is an interesting thought. When your mother returns from her business on the docks, we shall lift the ship's name-plate and look."

She fairly bounced with excitement. "Okay, Mr Morgan. I'm gonna make a san'wich for lunch. You want one?"

"No, thank you, Janey. I shall eat once I am off-duty."

The tiny face went serious. "Okay, Mr Morgan." She smiled once more and dashed off in a rapid patter of small feet. He watched her tiny form, dwarfed by the vast emptiness of gleaming corridor, until it was lost from view. She couldn't possibly be correct. Could she?

* * *

Sara strolled back up the long gangway, aware of, and ignoring, the curious looks of dock workers and merchants. Sedreth's half-shadowed form snapped a salute as she paused at the ornate opening with its golden scroll-work. She'd never really looked at the decoration round the ship's main lock before; it was truly beautiful, with the Legion's winged talon and the imperial aquila bright above a delicately worked pattern of wings and fire. She smiled slightly, which turned into a grimace as she remembered what had become of the warriors who had sought such perfection. Her return salute to Sedreth's armoured form was precise and formal. The hatch closed solidly behind her.

She leant against the wall and smiled at the massive armoured warrior opposite her.

"I'm glad that's over."

Sedreth's chuckle was brief but genuine. "Captain Tarken is tired of dealing with merchants?"

She felt her mouth twist. "Just a bit. But all the supplies are loaded, and my credit balance shows more than three million credits, still. I never thought such a sum could be insufficient for anything."

He was smiling as he removed his helmet. "Munitions are expensive."

She nodded. "Very. I am glad we weren't after ammunition for the main battery. Running a warship costs."

Sedreth nodded as they walked together towards the lifts. "Very much so. It is unfortunate that Lord Commander Calgar did not see fit to re-munition us. However, we are far from helpless despite the shortage. And it is unlikely we shall fight any long engagements in any case."

A jam-faced urchin was waiting for them on the bridge, fairly bouncing with excitement, half-eaten sandwich held loosely in one hand. "Hi, mummy. Hi, Mr Morgan. Can we look now?"

Sara knelt and pulled a handkerchief from her pocket, kneeling down to wipe the eager face and retrieve the disintegrating bread pieces. Janey squirmed and giggled. Satisfied, Sara stood again. "I hope the kitchen is in a better state than your face, young lady."

Janey gave her a look that clearly said 'of course', then turned her attention back to the space marine. "Can we, Mr Morgan?"

Sara looked at her daughter. "Can we what?"

"Look, mummy. Look under the name-plate for Mr Morgan's friends," came the reply.

Sedreth hesitated, then nodded. "Let us examine it at least." He walked over to the great golden panel and knelt beside it, taking a diagnostic scanner from his utility belt. Carefully, he ran the probe along the sides of the ship's dedication. Interesting. "There is a faint energy field. So slight as to be unnoticeable unless the ship is entirely powered down or someone is actively looking for it." He took out another implement, designed to unlock anything from the tiny parts of a bolter to the bolted-down plates of a warship. It buzzed futilely.

"Well, someone sealed this, and meant it to be difficult to un-seal. There is definitely some kind of force preventing the plate from being lifted."

"Some sort of chaos trick?" asked Sara.

He shook his head. "I don't think so. Whoever did this must have done it before the assault went in on the Choral City on Isstvan."

"Why do you think that?"

"Because the name-plate has been untouched, indeed ignored, for ten millennia, so far as I know. And I was one of the command crew for most of that time." He chuckled at their expressions. "How else do you think I learned to pilot and astronavigate?"

"Mr Morgan, you're all glowy."

He looked down at himself. The great pinion on his left shoulder shone softly, lending his armour a sheen that made it very bright even under the powerful bridge lights. A sudden thought came to him and he took the formal remembrance kneel, left knee on the deck, right hand to chest. He placed his free hand on the name-plate and spoke. The catechism.

"_What is your duty?_ Service to the Emperor's will. _What is the Emperor's will?_ That we fight and die. _What is death?_ Death is our duty."

There was a soft click and the golden panel lifted about a decem above the flush deck. He put his fingers into the gap and lifted gently; it moved smoothly and easily. A purple and gold honour pendant wrapped something small; he lifted the object out with great care.

Janey clapped her hands, looking eager and anxious at the same time. "Is that it, Mr Morgan?"

He placed the object on the console beside him and carefully unwrapped it to reveal a small data spool. The honour pendant he recognised with a pang as belonging to Milos Inavovic, one of the few Terran-born members of the Century and a veteran of the Emperor's Wars of Unification on humanity's homeworld. A warrior who had served with the Legion for more than a century before the Primarch had been found and one of the oldest surviving marines in any Legion who was not encased in a dreadnought. A brave man. An honourable man. He flinched mentally. A dead man.

All three of them looked at the data spool and then exchanged glances. With a soft sigh, Sedreth fed the wire into the reader. The screen above them came to life.

It was a space marine; Sedreth recognised librarian-sergeant Inavovic, grey-haired and cool-eyed, but he'd never seen that expression on the man's face. The sergeant looked around, as if watching for observers, then started to speak.

"To whoever is watching this, if you're not standing beside me, I am already dead. I hope I died well, as an astartes of the Emperor should. The deployment on Isstvan III is due in twelve hours; the units deployed have been hand-picked by the Warmaster. Our Primarch has been sent away, to meet with the Iron Hands and Primarch Mannus. I,.." he paused, hesitated, then went on in a rush, "I suspect treachery. Every unit selected from the Legion has been drawn from those who disavow the lodges, and almost all the remaining veterans of the Emperor's Wars on Terra will drop. More, the officers selected are amongst Eidolon's loudest critics. From what I know of the other Legions, a similar selection has been made. For an assault of this size, there should be at least one First Captain or Lord Commander in command on the ground but there is none. Those closest to the Primarchs are not involved in the ground assault. Members of the lodges are notable by their absence. There was a delivery of the life-eater virus to this ship – a delivery I should not know about, but discovered by accident. Why, I do not know, but the atmosphere in the Legion has been changing for months; loyalty to the Primarch is openly spoken of as paramount, even beyond loyalty to the Emperor. I think the lodges are spreading sedition. There is no reason to use such a weapon on this world, except one. Betrayal. The Warmaster has selected the most loyal, those who would never countenance opposing His Imperial Majesty, as the attacking force, to drop to the surface...

"I trained as a librarian before the Council of Nikaea, and I can sense the tension, the anticipation, even intentions. I was on _Vengeful Spirit_ during the briefing and saw the Word Bearer Erebus. He plans treachery, I am certain of it, and he has the Warmaster's ear. I think also First Captain Tarvitz has suspicions of his own, though not as I do. Horus Lupercal intends revolt, I believe, and the first blow will fall on the loyal members of his Legions. I hope I am wrong. If I believed in any deity, I would pray I was wrong."

The image cut out, then reappeared. Inavovic was in full battle armour in this new image. Around him, the bridge crew moved as if they could not see him at all.

"It is taking all my strength and training to keep myself unnoticed. We drop within the hour. I have appended the entire drop listing, and the ship's dedication by the Emperor. If I am right, all of us died for Him. If I am right, we will be bombed from orbit, but I am alert for it. I shall give warning, such as I can. And if I am able, the traitors will not get a massacre, they will get a war. For the Emperor and Terra. If I was right, brother, avenge us; do not let our honour and name be fouled by this filth."

The screen flickered again and went blank. Then it cleared and a long list of unit designations came up. Sedreth watched, astounded, as each unit listed the names and ranks of every squad member. Every single astartes who dropped on Isstvan was included. He saw Sara reach for the recording controls, a tear running down her cheek. Janey's small hand reached up and took his – he felt obscurely comforted. Eventually the long long list ended and the screen flickered again.

The image was one he recognised, though not from this perspective. Luna. A great stone column, nigh five kilometres high he knew, beside which a massive vessel hung at anchor, held by a monstrous golden chain. Below it a huge open space was filled with rank upon rank of warriors, hundreds upon hundreds of astartes in armour of purple and gold standing in disciplined lines in front of dozens of massive war machines. The angle changed, focussing on a gold-draped dais surrounded by warriors in golden armour with long halberd-like weapons. Custodes, the Emperor's personal guard.

The view panned across the small group of people standing on the platform, slowing and closing as it reached the central occupants. He heard Sara and Janey both gasp as they recognised – they had to recognise – the beautiful winged figure in blood-crimson battle armour chatting and laughing with an equally tall and proud being in pearl-white armour and a green cloak roped with white gold and gems. The two were joined by another pair, equally massive by comparison to the mortals around them. One of the pair, though tall and handsome, was almost hulking, wearing gorgeous horned battle armour of gold and bronze and cloaked in a mantle of golden feathers that made him seem even larger. But it was the second figure that Sedreth could not tear his eyes from.

That being was taller, but almost slender by comparison with his companion, and impossibly handsome, with white-blond hair. He wore armour of imperial purple and gold, the Emperor's aquila brilliant on his chest. At his waist hung a massive broadsword, and his cloak was a silver-white so bright that it hurt to look at it. My Primarch.

The vid played for several seconds, focussing primarily on the four Primarchs, but also panning across the long ranks of astartes at attention, the richly dressed onlookers and the formally-robed dignitaries. Then there was a fanfare and even the Primarchs on the dais bent their knees as He came amongst them, gold-armoured, mighty and vital, His immense presence coming through even on the recording. Beside Him walked a slender, robed, ascetic, bearing the Rod of Terra with its eagle and brazier, but none of them had eyes for the legend that had been Malcador the Sigilite. Sedreth felt himself come to attention without any conscious thought, and saw Sara kneeling in instinctive submission. Beside him, Janey's mouth was open in utter wonder. Neither had to ask him who the gold-armoured figure was. As He had done centuries before, the Emperor walked and talked in front of them.

Sara watched in awe as the Emperor stood on the dais. The _Emperor_ Himself! She couldn't help her instinctive genuflection, nor did she resent it. Even on a recording He was impossible, a God made flesh. The father of humanity, the protector of the Imperium, the Lord of All. His hair was dark. Not jet, but velvety black and rich, His features proud and regal. But it was His eyes that caught her gaze, the sheer power in that golden gaze holding her motionless on one knee before the mere recording of her Lord.

Janey held tight to Mr Morgan's hand even as he came to immaculate attention. The Emperor! And His sons. The Angel Sanguinius! And the Phoenician! She wondered who the other two Primarchs were. They were all so beautiful, even the one with only one eye. And it was obvious how close they were to each other, how much they loved and respected their brothers.

The Emperor spoke. "My sons, honoured guests, it is My pleasure and honour this day to dedicate this fine vessel to the service of My beloved son Fulgrim. As he defends the Imperium of Man, may she defend the brave warriors in her care; as he brings unity to the scattered worlds of our people, may she bring justice; as he is My will, let her be his eyes. I name this ship _Eyes of the Phoenix_. May she bring glory to My beloved son and his Legion." And he touched a control, letting a huge bottle swing down to smash against the massive prow in a ritual millennia older than the Imperium. The audience cheered, and the other Primarchs applauded their brother.

Then the Emperor and His sons descended from the platform and walked the ranks of astartes, occasionally one or other of them pausing to exchange a word or two with immaculate warriors. As the party passed one in particular, Janey sensed Mr Morgan stiffen and realised he was seeing himself. The Primarch in white said something to him and she looked up at his face, seeing his lips move and a single tear run unheeded down his cheek.

As the procession ended the Emperor turned again to face the massed space marines. He didn't raise His voice, but it carried clearly. "My warriors, soon you will return from this joyous occasion to the fields of battle, where you will continue your work of making the galaxy safe for mankind. Know as you do so, that My thoughts are with you. The catechism of the astartes is that My will is for you to fight and die. That is not entirely correct. A brave man I once knew said a profound truth about war which I would share with you today. He said, that ancient general, 'No-one wins a war by dying for his country. You win a war by making the other bastard die for his country.'"

The Emperor chuckled, joined by His sons who looked highly amused. "We no longer fight for countries; we fight today for humanity itself. So I wish you to do Me a small favour in the coming battles. Stay alive and make the other bastard, be he ork or eldar or monster, die. The Imperium of Man needs its astartes."

Fulgrim stepped forward and spoke clearly, his voice deep and rich and proud and powerful. "For the Emperor!"

The massed ranks bellowed it back, fit to shake the air. "For the Emperor!"

"What is your duty?"

As one, hundreds of voices roared the answer. "Service to the Emperor's will!"

"What is the Emperor's will?"

"That we fight and die!"

"What is death?"

"Death is our duty!"

The chant repeated and repeated as the vid faded out. Sara let out a breath she hadn't realised she was holding. She looked at the others. Janey was smiling; Sedreth looked white and drawn.

"Morgan? Are you alright?"

He seemed to shake himself. "Yes. Yes, I am fine, Sara. It has been a long time since I saw that."

She hesitated then asked it. "I recognised the Phoenician and Lord Sanguinius. Who were the other two?"

He sighed, a soft exhalation. "The one in the feathered cloak was Magnus the Red, the Primarch of the Thousand Sons. The other was Lupercal, a hundred years before he became Warmaster."

"Horus? That was Horus himself?"

He nodded slowly.

"They both turned traitor."

He nodded again, then hesitated before speaking. "According to the Thousand Sons, they were attacked while loyal to the Imperium. That is why they joined the rebellion; they were condemned without a choice to fight on the Emperor's behalf. They hate the Imperium for that, and the Space Wolves and Custodes above all."

Janey looked at him. "Why them?"

"They were the force that attacked Prospero without warning. The Thousand Sons lost nine in ten of their brethren that day, and their homeworld was left a lifeless desert. The few that survived were only saved by Magnus's sorcery, and they swore eternal vengeance against the Wolves. Even by the standards of chaos legions, that hatred is hard and bitter, and no Thousand Sons sorcerer will pass up the chance to kill and injure Leman Russ's children."

"What about the non-sorcerers?" asked Sara.

"There are none. The Thousand Sons are all sorcerers, since Ahriman's Rubric – a sorcerous ritual cast thousands of years ago. All the Thousand Sons were psykers to some degree; that is why they were attacked in the first place. Those of insufficient power to tap into the spell were turned to dust, their souls sealed inside their armour; they are little more than automatons now. Almost impossible to kill; they have to be utterly destroyed. The others are all immensely powerful sorcerers."

Janey paled. "That's horrible."

He nodded. "Yes, it is. Although it does mean that the Thousand Sons no longer recruit, for which humanity may be very grateful."

Sara nodded slowly, and changed the subject. "The Emperor was ... immense."

Sedreth replied gravely. "Indeed. You can see why He is so revered."

Janey's voice was quiet but serious. "He isn't a God though, is he?"

He shook his head. "No. He is immortal, the ultimate human, but he is not a God. Nor did he wish to be." He gave a rueful grimace. "That was why the damned Heresy happened in the first place."

"The Word Bearers?" asked Sara.

He nodded, then shook himself. "But enough of such maudlin talk. You have both seen the Emperor as he was. And now we know which units dropped on Isstvan III. Which means I have a lot of work to do, once we put out again. Are all the deliveries complete?"

Sara shook her head. "One more to come. I took the liberty of purchasing some normal-sized furniture for myself and Janey. It will be nice not to be dwarfed every time we sit down."

He smiled slightly. "In that case, I shall return the memory spool to its hiding place. It lay safe there for ten thousand years; it should remain safe no matter what."

They both nodded their agreement.

"Mr Morgan?"

"Yes, Janey?"

"What you said, about service to the Emperor's will. The Black Templars said the same thing."

"It is the catechism of the astartes, Janey. It dates back to the Emperor's wars of reunification on Terra."

"Oh. So all the space marines say that?"

He nodded. "All those loyal to the Emperor."

The small face went sober at the reminder that not all marines served the Emperor, then brightened all at once. "Do we serve the Emperor?"

"Yes, Janey, I think we do. Not the Imperium, but the Emperor, yes. Since Macragge, we have to consider ourselves as instruments of His will."

Her smile was dazzling. "Then we should say it too. 'Cos even if it means we have to die, it's okay, 'cos the Emperor will keep us safe, like daddy."

Sedreth looked at her, then slowly smiled. "What is your duty?"

The small voice was serious and she stood very straight, mimicking the astartes attention stance perfectly. "Service to the Emperor's will."

"What is the Emperor's will?"

"That we fight and die." She looked at her mother.

"What is death?"

"Death is our duty." Both of them said it, and he knelt down and put out his gauntleted hand. After a moment, Sara put hers on top of his, then Janey followed suit. No-one said anything, but two pairs of brown eyes met his grey-blue ones. It was enough.

* * *

"A bit to the left. Yes, that's perfect." Sedreth nodded to her and stood. She inspected the chamber briefly. Two comfortable-looking stuffed chairs and a large multi-cushioned couch now occupied the room, with a low wooden table between them. A pair of large white-striped rugs, one blue, the other green, lay, pleasantly fluffy, across the metal decking. It wasn't much, but compared to the stark martiality of the rest of _Eyes of the Phoenix_ it was sybaritic. She smiled slightly; a small haven for them to escape the endless routine of training and military pursuits. A place where Janey could be just a little girl again, for a while; where she could be nothing more than mummy. A place where they could forget, for a time, the rest of the universe and whatever task the Emperor wanted of them. She felt a twinge of guilt, but suppressed it. They needed somewhere to be just a family again, to remember that they were human too, as well as the Emperor's servants. Which was probably heresy. We serve the Emperor, she told herself sternly, not the Imperium and its Theocracy. The Emperor is not a God.

Janey looked up at her. "It's nice, mummy."

"You like it, darling?"

A nod. "It's sorta homey. Not marine-y." A look at Sedreth. "Sorry, Mr Morgan."

The big marine smiled slightly. "No apology is needed, Janey. Your mother's idea is a good one. Both of you need somewhere to relax in comfort. Somewhere you can still be a family."

"Aren't we a fam'ly?"

He gave her a solemn look. "In a special way, Janey. Our bonds are those of war and camaraderie, of shared danger rather than shared bloodlines. I would not attempt to take the place of your father, even if it were possible, but I am grateful to have you as battle-sisters."

The small face, which had looked worried, smiled up at him. "Yes, brother-sergeant." Her salute was immaculate, straight off the parade ground. His return was drill-perfect.

The intercom chimed.

"_Eyes of the Phoenix_, Tarken." Sara's answer was brusque, mild annoyance at the disturbance.

"This is Devsparts control, _Eyes of the Phoenix_. All ship departures are delayed by order of Lord Inquisitor Gustavus in the name of the Emperor. He has just arrived in the system."

"Acknowledged, control. Tarken out." She cut the connection and met the eyes of her shipmates.

"If I might make a suggestion, Sara?"

She nodded.

"Contact the Lord Inquisitor and offer him any assistance he may require. Anyone commanding a ship like this should do that."

* * *

Lord Inquisitor Jein Gustavus dismissed the aide without changing expression. Another flunkie, eager to ingratiate himself with the Ordo Malleus. He looked enquiringly at brother-captain Ignatius, commander of his Deathwatch squad.

The former Blood Raven nodded. "Just the one more before we meet with the Governor, Lord Inquisitor. A Captain Tarken, who has offered us any fire support we may need."

"Fire support?"

"Her ship is ex-military. According to the registration, it is a Raptor-class strike destroyer. Obsolete, but nonetheless formidable if it retains any of its original armament. I admit to being surprised that such a vessel was placed under civilian command."

"Indeed. Do you know who authorised such a command?" Gustavus had no idea what a strike destroyer was but acceded to Ignatius' judgement; they had served together, in some very tight spots, for more than two decades and as far as he trusted anyone, he trusted the black-armoured marine.

"According to the records sent us, Lord Commander Calgar of the Ultramarines. Logically, this implies that the captain and crew are agents of the Ultramarines."

"Is he outside?"

"She, Lord Inquisitor. Yes. Shall I send her in?"

He nodded.

The door opened and a black-armoured astartes came out. She noticed that his left shoulder-plate bore the insignia of the Blood Ravens, and the rank markings of a captain. He looked straight at her, expressionless.

"The Lord Inquisitor will see you now, captain."

"Thank you, brother-captain." She stood and walked past the marine into a smallish undecorated room containing a desk and a crimson-armoured man with an artificial eye sitting beneath the aquila.

The man didn't waste words. "Captain Tarken? I am Lord Inquisitor Gustavus. You offered your services."

"Yes, Lord Inquisitor. Although I do not have a full crew, I have sufficient to manoeuvre and fight a short action if necessary. As the most powerful ship in the system, _Eyes of the Phoenix_ is at your service should you require our fire-power. Though I am afraid we are somewhat short of munitions and could not fight an extended action."

"Your sense of duty does you honour, captain."

"I live to serve the Emperor, Lord Inquisitor."

He nodded. The marine captain spoke quietly from her left. "You wear a Black Templars purity seal, captain."

She looked at the man. "An honour I remain astounded by, brother-captain. And one I work hard to remain worthy of."

"Might I enquire where you received it?"

"At dock at Macragge, brother-captain, following action against a hive-fleet spur at Caltenis."

Gustavus looked shrewdly at her. "I have heard of the action. The battle-fleet of the Ultramarines and the Imperial Navy destroyed the xenos menace utterly. You were there?"

"No, Lord Inquisitor. We were involved in the earlier action. By the Emperor's grace we arrived in time to teleport the surviving Black Templars from the strike cruiser _Implacable_ before her engines detonated and escape the system to bring warning to the Ultramarines. Our ship received significant damage, and we did not take part in the subsequent battle."

"Then you must have been on Macragge during the 'Miracle'?"

"Indeed, Lord Inquisitor. My daughter and myself were at a devotive shrine when it happened. It... shone. Shone with the light of a thousand stars, yet I could still see. The Throne of the Primarch glowed blue, Ultramarines blue, as bright as the sun, and the Emperor said that His son Robouté would be reunited with Him. And the song, Lord Inquisitor, millions of voices raised in praise." She shook herself, looking back into a fascinated face. "I shall never forget it."

There was a long silence.

"_Eyes of the Phoenix, epsilon-76, 0001-delta, 29-sigma, gamma-79_," quoted the marine. "An old, old vessel. Sigma indicates astartes, but I have never seen an astartes ship with a gamma registration before." His voice was quiet and emotionless.

She turned her head. "I hope you never see another, brother-captain, unless you have a company of astartes at your back. As I understand it, the letters of the ancient alphabet known as Greek were used in sequence for the original astartes Legions. Thus the Dark Angels as Legio Astartes I were alpha, and so on. Gamma is the third letter of that alphabet." She waited to let that sink in.

Gustavus looked at her, appalled understanding in his single human eye. "That was a ship of the Third Legion?"

She nodded silently. The marine's expression was icy.

"The Emperor's Children. Traitors and heretics."

She met his gaze without compunction. "Nothing so grand, brother-captain, if I may be so bold. They are merely vermin, to be exterminated on sight like any other dangerous pest."

The inquisitor gave a short bark of laughter. "You have considerable courage, captain, to tell an Imperial Inquisitor to his face that you command an Emperor's Children ship."

Sara smiled slightly. "Lord Inquisitor, I am sure that you already know that all agents of chaos on Macragge died during the Emperor's intervention; their false Gods did not protect them from His wrath. No taint of chaos exists aboard my ship, and Lord Commander Calgar had his librarians and chaplains confirm that before ever he allowed me to leave the system. I am not perfect; who of us is? But I have felt the light of the Emperor Himself. He protects. I have nothing to fear from His servants."

Gustavus stood slowly. "We shall not require the fire-power of your vessel, captain. You have leave to continue your journey. Walk in His Light."

"You also, Lord Inquisitor, brother-captain. An honour to meet you both." She gave a formal brief bow and walked out. The door shut behind her.

In the small room, the Deathwatch marine looked at his commander. "You trust her then, Lord Gustavus? Despite the origins of that ship?"

"Yes, I rather think I do. I felt the touch of power on that seal she wore; it has been used against daemons. No agent of chaos could wear it without harm."

"Should we not inspect her ship?"

"Not at this time. Somehow I have the feeling we will run into this captain Tarken again, Ignatius, my friend. And we will be grateful for it when we do."

The armoured giant nodded slowly. Over the decades he had learned to trust Gustavus' hunches; the Inquisitor was right most of the time. The next meeting might be interesting.


	13. Chapter Twelve

****a/n two chapters together; I don;t do this too often, but twelve and thirteen go together and twelve in very short, while thirteen in very long. I hope you enjoy them, and thanks for the reviews.

**Chapter Twelve**

The Plett system was crowded, with dozens of ships large and small moving between the two habitable worlds of its seven, and more travelling in- and outwards to and from various jump points. Many of these vessels were massive freighters, carrying the products of the sector's forgeworlds, Actinus VII and Galatea Prime, to the mighty industrial manufactoriums of Plett V, and in turn shipping vital minerals and ores from the hub system's rich asteroid belts for smelting. Others were private craft of all shapes and sizes, property of the rich and titled, who came to spend their money and leisure time at the famed resorts on Plett III and IV. Some were passenger ships, transporting workers and leisure-seekers alike. Still others belonged to the Administratum and other branches of humanity's Byzantine many-tentacled government. Finally there was the local military, a full squadron of warships led by the battlecruiser _Farago_.

Amongst this crowd, even the arrival of a large former warship did not raise many eyebrows. So it was that _Eyes of the Phoenix_ followed the automatic course feed towards her designated berth at the second of Plett IV's three orbiting stations without more than a cursory automated request for the captain's id and license. As Sara piloted her charge the last few kilometres to dock between two massive liners she was astounded by the sheer volume of traffic in the system. Even close to the stations there were dozens of small craft, tenders and flitters and skiffs, weaving a constant pattern about the stately passenger vessels. She wondered briefly what their pilots would make of the obviously military aspect of the latest arrival, then dismissed the thought; there were more than a few converted warships in the system, even if none matched _Phoenix_ in size.

"Well, Janey, what do you think? A suitable place to celebrate?"

Janey looked, puzzled, at the big marine as he leant back in his seat. "What're we celevrating, Mr Morgan."

He chuckled. "I believe that one of us is about to turn eight?"

A squeal of delight, "Mr Morgan, you 'membered!" and his neck was wrapped in tiny arms. He caught Sara's eyes sparkling with merriment. An eager upturned face grinned impishly at him. He grinned back and reached into his utility belt.

"Of course we remembered. And I have a small gift for you before we go down." He handed her a small package, carefully wrapped in soft crimson cloth. She opened it cautiously, and her mouth opened soundlessly. She lifted up the small pendant on its golden chain. The Blood Angel hung delicate and deadly, sword in hand and rubies glittering on his enamelled wings.

"It's beautiful."

Sedreth smiled briefly at the compliment. "I had a good likeness to work from. And it has a tracer in it, so it will keep your safe."

* * *

Docking supervisor Rafa Sung watched as his crew expertly checked the umbilicals on Deuce Station's latest arrival. '_Eyes of the Phoenix_' – a fanciful name for another fancy liner. He didn't recognise the name; not a regular docking then. Still, another couple of thousand passengers expecting the lowly dockworkers to stand to, to catch their unruly spoilt brats, and to generally act like servants. He felt the familiar resentment and as always assuaged it in the thought that rich gamblers paid for all the dockers and other staff. All of the station's personnel got a profit share – not a large one, but a share nonetheless – and it was pleasant to think that the arrogant visitors kept him and his family in the comfortable accommodations reserved for staff on Plett IV's smallest, eastern, continent. He gestured to his team as the all-clear flashed and the station's richly-dressed welcomers arrived, forming themselves up into two lines to greet the new arrivals with their synthetic smiles and professional sycophancy. The gaudily painted entrance hatch opened.

"Welcome, sirs and..,," the lead welcomer's voice trailed away. There was no-one on the other side of the hatch, just a long ramp, gleaming gun-metal in the lamps, leading up to a dark opening under what appeared to be a mass of carved feathers, all bronze and gold.

After a few seconds three figures walked through the opening and started down the ramp. The welcome party watched hesitantly as the tallest of the three resolved itself into a massive man, made even larger by the knee-length coat of soft grey fabric that stretched against his muscled shoulders and chest. He led the other two – a woman and girl-child – down the ramp, eyes alert.

Sung, watching, recognised a professional warrior from his own time in the Guard. But, Emperor's teeth, the man was huge, as big as a space marine; genetically enhanced, certainly. He realised as the warrior approached that this must be a bodyguard, and wondered who the other two were to rate such protection. Or to afford it. He looked more closely at the woman and child.

Both were dark-haired and neatly dressed; the woman in a close-fitting black jacket and pants beneath a black and silver cloak, the child in a pretty red dress and matching shoes. The little girl carried a small worn-looking stuffed animal in her left hand, her other hand firmly embedded in her mother's grasp. Behind them a small auto-transport bore half a dozen cases and bags.

Nothing special.

The lead welcomer stepped forward again. "Welcome, sir and ladies to Plett. We greet you in the Emperor's name."

The big man simply looked at him, then the woman nodded briefly. "Thank you. His Grace on you. Is there a purpose to this?" Her hand indicated the lines of servants.

The lead welcomer looked a bit nonplussed. "It is customary, sera. To welcome our visitors," she said,

The black-clad woman chuckled. "I see. That is most courteous. However, we do not require anything so grand. If you could direct us to registration so that we can go downplanet, that will more than suffice."

Sung managed to hide a smile.

"But, sera, are there no other passengers to debark?"

She shook her head. "No. Only myself and my companions are going planetside. The ship will remain sealed until we return."

The welcomer huffed at that. "That is most irregular. Liners should debark all their passengers."

"_Eyes of the Phoenix _is not a liner. She is my ship," said the woman politely but firmly. "And as a private vessel, she will remain docked and untouched until we return."

The welcomer's eyes almost popped out of her head, but she recovered her poise quickly. "A private vessel? Then she should have docked at a different location. Might I see your license, captain?"

The captain handed over some papers. Officials looked at them and paled. Sung wondered what was in the documents to cause that reaction.

"Of course, captain Tarken. That is all in order. The planetary shuttles leave every fifteen minutes from bay 17-four. That's seven floors above us."

The woman, Tarken, nodded. "Thank you. Morgan, do you have the bookings?"

The big man nodded and replied in a bass rumble, "Yes, captain." They looked tiny in his immense paw. This close, it was obvious he was close to three metres tall, and built like a wall, dominating the immediate area by sheer size. "We are booked at a resort called Duglass."

An expensive place, exclusive and quiet. Made sense, Sung thought, for someone who owned her own starship. He remained with his team as the three visitors disappeared in the direction of the station lifts; the welcomers headed off for their next assignment.

Left behind, the dockers looked at each other, then at the massive vessel.

Lyra broke the silence. "That's a warship. Or was. You could have thousand troops on that thing."

"I've never seen anything like it before," said old Gagniet. "Warships all have a 'share bow."

Sung looked at the great machine for a long minute, then suddenly chuckled. "It does. Someone just turned it upside down and carved it into an Imperial eagle." His communit beeped. "Alright people, let's get back to work. The _Olympe_ is moving into dock, and you know what her captain's like."

The small group moved away with much good-natured grumbling. Behind them, _Eyes of the Phoenix_ remained, sealed at dock and immune to the opinions of mortals.

* * *

The shuttle lounge was well-appointed, even luxurious, with thick carpets and wall paintings. What it was not, was crowded. There were just a handful of occupants; a couple who had eyes only for each other, a richly dressed man in his thirties with two obvious bodyguards, and a group of half a dozen richly accoutred women chatting nineteen to the dozen with wineglasses in their hands. There were also a couple of liveried servants, carrying round trays of drinks and hors d'ouvres.

The three of them walked in, Janey holding tight to her mother's hand. Sara gave a reassuring squeeze. Sedreth led them to a small occasional table surrounded by stuffed and comfortable chairs, and stood while his charges seated themselves. Janey looked round curiously.

There was scurry of servants and a group of richly-dressed people, surrounded by flunkies, came through the smoked-glass entrance doors. It was difficult to tell how many there were, such was the fluttering of servants, but it was clear that a tall dark-haired woman appeared to be in charge. She held a petulant-looking blond boy firmly by the hand and swept past the flunkies and through the docking gate. Sara and Sedreth exchanged glances then a liveried man whose uniform dripped with silver braid spoke to the room at large.

"Ladies and gentlemen, boarding will take place immediately. Please take your seats swiftly and ensure that all safety belts are fastened. Please board as your name is called. Lady 'sto Halet and party?"

The group of women drifted towards the entrance, apparently indifferent to the flunkies' attempts to hurry their progress.

"Ser and sera Helspruit?"

The couple, arm in arm, walked quickly to the boarding entrance, barely looking away from each other as they went through.

"Captain Tarken and party?" The three of them, Janey in the middle, walked through the entrance to a roped-off gangway, carpeted in blue, and walked up it onto a plushly-upholstered shuttle, also decorated in blues, with perhaps thirty seats. A curtain prevented them turning left, and a pretty woman escorted them right and up a wide aisle to a group of carefully arranged seats by the starboard windows. The chattering women were grouped ahead of them to port, and the couple shared a large double seat across the aisle. There was no sign of the other group. As they took their seats the single man and his bodyguards were escorted to a small area just ahead of them.

People came round with trays of drinks as the shuttle moved smoothly away from the station.

Janey ignored them, peering out of the large window. "Mummy, I can see _Phoenix_. And the station. Mr Morgan, is that the main comms array?"

Sedreth shook his head. "No, Janey. It is an auxiliary scan, I think. The main comms array is there." He pointed.

The man near them watched the conversation for a few moments, then leant across.

"Captain, Tarken, is it? Your companion seems well-versed in station layouts."

Sara looked at him, then shrugged. "Most stations are similar, ser..?"

"Charlois Corten. The fourth. At your service. You do not seem to be the typical visitor to Plett, if I may make the observation."

She smiled slightly. "It is our first visit. A treat for my daughter's birthday."

"Ah. Then I wish you all a pleasant stay. You will find the resorts have many entertainments for the young. And the not so young, of course. The tables at Silver Suns are justly famed."

Sedreth glanced over, one huge hand protectively touching Janey's slight shoulders. "Gambling is foolish; you can lose more than money. There are dangers enough in the universe without adding to them by stupidity."

The man chuckled dismissively, then slowed to a silence under a cold blue-grey stare. His two guards tensed. Sedreth simply looked at them, the dismissive glance of the alpha predator. The brief confrontation was broken by a feminine laugh.

"Sharley, are you getting yourself in trouble again?" The woman sat down in a seat across the aisle and grinned merrily at Sara, obviously not entirely sober. "He does this all the time; probing and questioning. One day he'll run into someone who takes serious objection to his lack of manners, and then his guards will have to earn their pay."

She held out an elegantly jewelled hand. "Susanna 'sto Helit, by the way. Call me Suze."

"Sara Tarken. My daughter Jane, and my security chief, Morgan.",

"Enchanted, my dear. Your birthday is it? And how old are you?"

"I'll be eight, sera." Janey looked slightly nervous.

Susanna 'sto Helit smiled. "A delightful age. An age I remember with great affection. I wish you a very happy birthday, my dear."

"Thank you, sera," answered Janey shyly. She moved closer to Sedreth's comforting security. The woman smiled briefly.

"Enchanted to meet you all. I'll let you get back to your conversation." She stood and walked back to her chattering group. Corten watched her go with a strange expression. He looked at them.

"You'll be a subject of speculation for the next day or two, of course. Suze and her friends gossip about anything that is different from their routine. I hope you enjoy your holiday, captain Tarken. If I may offer a word of advice?"

Sara raised an eyebrow.

"That is a beautiful pendant your daughter wears, but others can recognise Baal rubies, and understand their provenance." He nodded politely to Sedreth and returned to his own seat, taking his bodyguards with him.

* * *

The sun was bright, a white-gold disc in the pale blue sky. The three of them walked along stone-flagged pavement, a luggage transport dutifully following behind. Sara consulted the automap.

"Next turn on the left."

It was large, stone-walled in gleaming white, with pale tiles that reflected the sunshine in rippling rainbows. A large expanse of green grass bordered with flowers of every colour stretched before and around the villa, blue awnings throwing shadows across the garden.

"Wow," said Janey. "Are we really going to stay here?"

Sara nodded. "For a couple of weeks, darling."

"What's that noise, mummy?"

Sara paused. A soft rushing noise was just audible, from somewhere past the little villa. She didn't recognise it. "I don't know. I've never heard it before."

Sedreth chuckled from Janey's other side.

"You know what it is, Mr Morgan, don't you?"

"Yes. Once we have settled in – and eaten – I shall show you both."

And all Janey's importunings could not shake him from that decision.

"Emperor, but this is.. incredible. Do people actually live like this all the time?" asked Sara, looking round the sybaritic rooms.

Sedreth nodded. "It is natural to desire a little comfort and ease from the stresses and toils of work. This sort of luxury rapidly tends towards hedonism, however. It is not something to get used to. Humans need to earn what we have, else we are no more than parasites. We need to know that we are worthwhile."

She nodded. "Still, for a short break."

"For a short time, in a good cause, yes, it is perfectly natural to enjoy ourselves. Talking of which, I believe we were going to see something?"

She nodded and called for Janey.

The brightly sunlit streets looked weird; Janey had never seen green grass before. Grass should be blue, she thought. The pretty flowers along the green borders were nice though. She held tight to mummy's hand as the three of them walked along the red- and blue-paved street. The rushing noise was getting louder. Mr Morgan turned left and they stopped.

"Oh."

The first thing that she thought was how _far_ it was. Endless blue water hazing into a distant paler blue sky. A grey-paved street and a low wall, more of the green grass, and a long expanse of pale yellow-white..sand? It was... huge. She barely felt her feet move as they walked forward, the green grass tickling her toes between the holes in her sandals. Water ran up the sand in little waves and bigger ones. There were dozens of people lying on the warm sand, most of them wearing nothing but undies. She felt a giggle starting deep in her chest as Mr Morgan led her and mummy towards the endless water. She tried to stop it, even put her hands to her mouth, but then she was laughing and running beside Mr Morgan, as he swung her up in huge bounds until they were right beside the water and it was running up onto her feet and running away again in a cold tickly feeling. She turned to look at mummy who was standing a little behind her looking amazed and happy. Janey laughed aloud as more water ran over her toes. Mummy walked the few steps to them and took her other hand.

"It speaks to something primal in all of us," said Mr Morgan quietly. "No matter who we are and what we've seen, the ocean is a source of wonder. I've seen men stand, just looking, for hours the first time they see it."

She nodded, looking up at the big man. "Did you?"

He shook his head. "Not really. I grew up by the sea. My father was a fisherman. I grew up loving and hating it."

"How? How can you hate something like this?" she asked, holding out her hand towards the sheer wonderment that was endless water.

He chuckled softly. "The ocean is beautiful, but it can be deadly. It killed my father, and wore out my mother. But at the same time I find it hard to resist. Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I'd stayed. Would the galaxy have noticed one more fisherman?"

Mummy smiled softly, sadly. "The galaxy might not have noticed, but we would be dead. I'm glad you didn't."

She squeezed Mr Morgan's hand and he looked down at her. "So am I," he said. "So am I.

They stood there for ages, just watching the water come in and go out, feeling the warm sun and the soft salty breeze. It was getting dark and she was getting tired when Mr Morgan picked her up and they all went back to the villa.

* * *

Janey woke early, the sun streaming through the gap in her curtains. She giggled to herself; another day at the beach. Then she remembered. She flung back the covers and ran through to use the toilet. She was bigger today. She was eight. She looked at herself in the mirror; she didn't _look_ any different. But she felt different. Maybe she'd have green wee. Or blue poo. She giggled at the thought, and turned on the shower, still giggling to herself.

It wasn't any different. She was sort of disappointed, but it was still nice to be Janey. Wrapped in a big fluffy towel, she went back through to her bedroom.

"Mummy, mummy, come quick."

Mummy came through really fast. "What is it, darling?"

"Look!" She pointed to the small pile of brightly wrapped packages on her bed.

Mummy laughed. "Oh. I wonder who those could be for. You should look."

She bounced onto the bed, looking at ribbons and labels. "Mummy, they're for me! They're all for me."

Mr Morgan's deep voice rumbled from behind mummy. "How many are there, Janey?"

She counted. "There's eight. Eight presents 'cos I'm eight." She laughed, bouncing on the big soft bed.

"Which are you going to open first?" asked mummy.

She grinned and pointed at a blue and yellow package with sparkles on it. "That one."

It was the fourth package that made her pause, after the pretty doll and the new dress and the cloak that matched mummy's. A really pretty pair of sparkly earrings. Mummy smiled at her. "You'll have to get your ears pierced to wear those."

She looked up. "What's pierced?"

"A little hole in the bottom of the ear. Like mine," mummy showed her, taking out the green and gold stud from her own ear.

"Does it hurt?"

"It stings a little bit. But it's traditional where your daddy comes from, that girls have their ears pierced on their eighth birthday."

"Did you, mummy?"

"No, darling. Mine were done when your daddy and me agreed to get married. He made these studs for me himself, as a betrothal gift."

She felt suddenly sad. "I wish he'd made mine. I wish he was here."

Mr Morgan nodded. "He would be proud to know that his daughter is following in his family traditions." She thought about that for a few minutes.

"Can I get it done now?"

"Of course. Do you wish to open the rest of your presents first?"

"No. I want to make Daddy proud. Daddies are more important than presents."

Mummy hugged her.

It did sting, a bit, but she couldn't help looking at herself in the glass fronts of all the shops as they walked back. The earrings reflected all sparkly in rainbows of green and blue. Mummy said they were made from em'ralds, but she didn't really care. What mattered was that daddy would have wanted her to wear them.

Later, after she'd opened the other presents, they all sat in the big comfy sofas and watched her new holo projector as it showed Holy Terra slowly spinning. She had the new knife Mr Morgan had given her strapped to her forearm. It was really sharp – 'fractal-edged' Mr Morgan called it – and had the aquila engraved on the blade. The winged talon of the Legion shone gold on its scabbard. A proper fighting dagger, like a space marine. She snuggled into mummy's warm comfort and watched the Emperor's Palace until her eyes got heavy and it was time for bed.


	14. Chapter Thirteen

**Chapter Thirteen**

"Sara, I think it would be a good time to replenish our financial reserves. This is a perfect place to dispose of these."

Sara looked round at the big marine and the ornately carved box held in his massive paw. "Dispose of what?"

He showed her. Gems of all colours caught the light, refracting multi-coloured spectra; the box was full of jewellery.

"Emperor's Throne. Where did you get those?"

"In the quarters of one of my long unlamented companions. He was a sadistic pervert, but he knew his jewellery. The original owners are of course long dead. But the collection is worth millions, at the least. There are very few places in the galaxy where you could sell them openly; this resort, a playground for the wealthiest citizens of the Imperium, is one such place."

She blanched. "Morgan, I couldn't. It's like robbing the dead."

He nodded. "I understand, but these dead were robbed centuries ago. And we will need funds, Sara. For equipment, for munitions. Even for repair. We cannot count on having the Emperor intercede on our behalf again."

She chuckled despite herself. "No, I don't suppose we can. Oh, very well. Have you any idea of the true worth of this?"

He shook his head. "I am not a collector. However, I did run a few searches, and of course I scanned each piece individually, both for material, and for makers' marks and so on."

"And?"

"Most are high quality, and would retail in the hundreds of thousands. A couple, however, are almost certainly worth millions, at least, on their own. And one, well, I am not certain it should be offered at all."

Helplessly intrigued she asked the obvious question. "Why?"

He lifted out a,... necklace? No, a headdress, its metal darkened by age and – what might have been fire? The stones were unlike anything she'd ever seen before, five gems that almost seemed to glow with an inner fire, flickering through all the colours of the spectrum as if they were alive.

"What is it?"

"A headdress. I saw something similar during the preliminary battles in the Isstvan system. It was worn by a warsinger."

"A warsinger? What is that?"

"Some kind of psyker, I think. They sang a long, endless series of notes which supported the Isstvani troops into actions of suicidal courage. I saw one nearly kill Garro, the battle-captain of the Death Guard, by a sonic strike when he got too close to her. Flung him tens of metres from the top of her pyramid and severed his leg. Fabius got to him and stopped him from bleeding to death."

"Battle-captain?"

"Special name for the Seventh Company captain of the Death Guard. Garro was Captain Tarvitz's honour brother, just as his sergeant Pyr Rahl was mine. Rahl died in that fight."

"And Garro?"

"I cannot be certain, but I heard from a Death Guard plague marine, many centuries later, that Garro killed the Death Guard's Second Company captain, an arrogant ass called Grulgor, and fled to try and give warning of the Rebellion. Whether he managed it or not, I have no idea."

"I wonder why they had a special name for that single position amongst all the hundreds of company captains," said Sara thoughtfully.

Sedreth chuckled. "There were only seven companies of the Death Guard. Still are, for all they're split into smaller groups these days. Whatever their commanders may say, the plague marines all consider themselves to be members of one of the seven Companies of their Legion. Then again, that's not entirely surprising; their patron's sacred number is seven."

They looked at each other, then changed the subject. "So is the headdress some sort of psychic focus, then?"

"I am not a psyker, Sara; I don't know."

"Then we should keep it safe; I shall not loose a psychic device upon anyone unknowing."

He nodded. "The rest though we can sell. There are several dealers on Plett III, but more on Plett IV, presumably because people are foolish enough to stake large sums at the games."

"We can visit IV on our last day here. In the meantime, I think we have a little girl who will want to visit the beach again tomorrow."

They smiled at each other and walked outside to practice.

* * *

Silver Suns was a frenetic place, where everyone seemed to be in a hurry. The hire-flitter dropped them off at a pedestrian precinct and they strolled easily along. The displays were rich, fabulous items of craftsmanship and great expense shown to carefully discreet advantage. This was where the nobility of the Imperium of Man came to play and to spend their huge wealth, and Sara couldn't help but be impressed. She kept close hold of Janey's hand as they walked through the richly-dressed people.

A large sign indicated their first destination and they walked into the cool ostentation of Piven and Nours at eleven precisely.

"I am sorry, captain, but that is my final offer."

Sara looked at the slim moustachioed man opposite her with distaste. Parasite, she thought. "Very well, ser Piven. I shall go elsewhere." She stood and nodded briefly, then, collecting Sedreth and Janey on the way, walked out without a backward glance.

Behind her a door opened. "Tulis, you fool. You've lost her."

The slim man shrugged. "She knew what she would accept and I was not prepared to match it. There are few places she can sell such goods; I doubt they will offer more. She will be back."

"And if she is not?"

Another shrug. "Our contacts will ensure that charges are brought. I am sure we can find a few missing heirlooms."

They shared a look and smiled at each other. They were not pleasant smiles.

The trio's second call was very different. First, because the entrance was extremely discreet, only a metal plaque stating the name of the business. Second, because the person who met them was much much more pleasant. Ser Holt of Holt and Patchett Aucntioneers was a dapper little man of nervous manner. He was also much more interested.

"Captain Tarken, how on earth did you come across such a collection?"

She shrugged slightly. "The property of an unfortunate pirate, ser Holt. A very unfortunate, and very dead, pirate. Where he got them is a matter of conjecture."

Ser Holt looked at her through old-fashioned spectacles. "Pirate? I thought you were a trader captain?"

She smiled deprecatingly. "I trade, yes. It is not perhaps my primary business." She handed him her rogue trader license. He looked at it and blinked, then glanced at Sedreth's massive form with a sudden understanding in his eyes.

"Oh. Oh, I see. In that case, of course we will be honoured to do business, captain."

She chuckled, and sipped the water she had accepted. "Excellent."

It took about an hour for ser Holt to agree on a price for the contents of the jewel-box. One by one they went through the pieces until there was only one left. As he took the last glittering necklace from its case ser Holt drew an audible breath.

"Magnificent. Sera, I am deeply sorry, but I cannot purchase this. It is indubitably worth several million credits just for the break-up value, but I would be extremely remiss to breach my companies' reserves, even for this."

She nodded slowly. "How much would you expect to receive on the open market?"

"At auction? Anything from ten million to ten times that. I could not in any honour buy it from you for less than five million credits, and I do not have those funds available."

She chuckled softly. "Can it be sold and the monies credited to my account?"

"Yes, captain. But I warn you it will take time; those with the wherewithal to purchase such a piece are few and far between. It could take up to three or four years to sell."

Sara nodded. "That sounds acceptable. Can you arrange for one tenth of the sale price to go direct to the Astartes Black Templars?"

He blinked again and nodded. "Yes, yes, of course. Easily."

"Less your firm's commission, of course."

Ser Holt nodded again. "You are most generous, captain. For the privilege of selling such an item, I shall be pleased to reduce our commission rates to four percent."

"Good. Then our business is concluded, ser. A pleasure dealing with an honest man."

He smiled briefly. "An honour dealing with you, captain. The transferral to your account will only take a moment."

They walked past a small café and had fruit juices before heading back to the shuttles. Silver Suns, on closer inspection, was very expensive and had a certain air of desperation, as if the inhabitants had been told so often that the resort was a great place to have a good time that they simply had to convince themselves they were doing just that. It was not a pleasant atmosphere and Sedreth's battle-honed instincts were at high alert as they strolled along the main skywalk towards the the shuttle port. Janey seemed tense as well, and Sara had the sort of look in her eyes that he associated with live combat practice.

They were about half way along the skywalk when Janey stopped. "Mr Morgan," she asked quietly. "What's that building there?"

He looked where she was pointing. "It's a casino, Janey, where people go to gamble."

"It's wrong, Mr Morgan. Wrong like wen the things came that night."

He looked at the tiny, seriously worried face. She met his eyes with a scared look. "Something bad's happening."

Sara hesitated. "I feel something too."

He closed his eyes briefly. Something familiar. Too familiar. He scooped up the little girl. "Come on. We need to get to the ship."

Sara nodded and simply shoved aside a young couple who were about to board a hire-flitter. The man tried to protest only to be silenced by a look from Sedreth. He subsided, spluttering about outrages.

"Shuttle port. Move. In the Emperor's name." Sedreth's voice was not one any cab driver was going to ignore. The vehicle took off.

"Go direct. Traffic regulations be damned," added the marine, taking his bolt pistol from its holster under his long coat and cocking it. The driver's eyes went wide. "Sara, you have your psi-shield?"

She nodded. "Always." She took out and cocked her own weapon, watching the casino with cold eyes.

"Mr Morgan, we have to hurry." Janey's voice was faint, and Sara pulled her daughter close.

It was only a couple of minutes, but it felt like hours before they were leaping from the flitter. Sedreth turned to the driver and shoved a handful of credit chips at him, enough to buy the vehicle. The man looked at him with wide scared eyes.

"Driver, go home, get your family, take them to the nearest cathedral, and pray. Pray as hard as you ever have. Pray for your soul. The Emperor protects." He turned and carried Janey one-handed towards the shuttle bays at a run, to catch up with Sara.

* * *

"Brother-captain, there is a small shuttle ignoring lane regulations. It appears to be en route to Trinarii dock. It is not responding to traffic management."

The scar-faced warrior in his pale grey Terminator armour took the two strides needed to cross the small bridge. "A shuttle? Does it belong to any vessel?"

"Negative, brother-captain. It is a standard shuttle for hire."

"Can you determine who hired it? Given the sensation we experienced a few minutes ago, such haste is unlikely to be coincidence."

The dark-haired marine at the scan station, likewise hulking in pale grey Terminator armour pressed controls. He shook his head. "Negative, brother-captain. Not without exposing our hooks into the system records."

"Hmm. It is headed away from the source on IV. Keep watch on it and alert me if anything else unusual occurs. Once brother Mallory is finished at his devotions, take your turn; he will cover scan. We dare not allow ourselves to be distracted by minor anomalies. If necessary we can deal with this mysterious shuttle later."

"As you command, brother-captain."

"Brother-captain, that shuttle. It is heading for a ship powering up at Trinarii dock. I'm attempting to access the details of it now."

The cold-eyed man with the artificial eye raised his real eyebrow. "Brother-captain Mendez? Is this an anomaly I should be aware of?" He stepped across to join the two marines, his blood-red armour contrasting sharply with their grey. The gold icons of his official position glinted in the deck-lights.

The Terminator captain met the enquiry without flinching. "I am not entirely certain Lord Daemonhunter. The shuttle appeared to be in a great hurry to leave the vicinity of Silver Suns. Have you any details on this ship, brother Mallory."

Mallory nodded slowly, his pale blue eyes more worried than was normal. "Yes, brother-captain. I have the registration. _Eyes of the Phoenix_, registration _epsilon-76, 0001-delta, 29-sigma, gamma-79_."

"Epsilon indicates a warship, does it not, brother-captain?"

"Indeed, Lord Carline." The big captain's face was grim. He spoke into his commlink. "Brother-sergeant Neihart, affirm my memory. What do the groupings of alphanumerics mean in a standard ship registration?"

The veteran warrior's reply came through clearly. "The first pair indicate the class, brother-captain, the second indicate the planet of origin. The third pair show year and service, the last pair is unique to each service."

"So in order, _epsilon-76_ indicates?"

"A warship, brother captain. I do not recognise the numeral; it must be an old type. But only capital ships have numbers above sixty."

"I see. And _0001-delta_?"

"The fourth planet of the Sol system, brother-captain. That is, it would indicate a vessel that was built at the Mars shipyards." The sergeant's voice indicated a certain interest and he walked through the bridge entrance before he had finished speaking, the now-five armoured occupants making the small space seem very cramped indeed.

Mendez gave a tight smile "_29-sigma_?"

"Astartes vessel, entering service in the 29th millennium."

"Which means the last pair indicates chapter and company, correct?"

"Yes, brother-captain. Based on the ancient alphabet known as Greek, with a numeric for the founding and heritage, and a second number for the company if any."

Carline looked at the grim-faced marines. "Explain, sergeant."

"Yes, lord Carline. Each letter indicates a First Founding unit. For example, an epsilon indicates the Imperial Fists, Legio number Five, and their successor chapters, thus Black Templars are epsilon-secundus, Crimson Fists epsilon-tertius. The letter nu, the thirteenth letter of the alphabet, would indicate the Ultramarines or a successor chapter. The number of such successors is of course in the hundreds for the Ultramarines; the great majority of astartes chapters are descendant from Lord Guilleman's Legion. All Grey Knights vessels use omega as it is the last letter of that alphabet."

"I see. This vessel is _gamma-79_. How would you interpret that?"

"I can only assume there must be an error, lord daemonhunter. Gamma is the third letter of that alphabet. There is no such force in Imperial service, not since they joined the Arch-heretic in betraying their Emperor."

"The Third Legion? Are you telling me that a vessel registered to the _Emperor's Children _has been sitting quietly at dock right under our noses?"

Mendez' answering look was eloquent. "It explains much, Lord Carline."

Carline's expression would not have been out of place on one of the more ferocious ork warlords. "Uncloak. Get me the local admiral. Shields and weapons to full power. I want a firing solution on that ship and I want it now."

The space marines hurried to obey. Mallory turned in his chair. "Lord Carline. I have the ship-type. It's a Raptor-class strike destroyer. Obsolete now, but the Raven Guard keep one in service. It's the equivalent of a modern strike cruiser, more or less."

Carline went white. "A strike cruiser? Throne of Gold! There could be a company or more on that thing. And weapons to match."

"They will not stand against us, lord Carline. Not if we can board."

Carline nodded and started to speak, then groaned in pain, clutching his head. "There is a summoning. On the planet. A daemon. A very great daemon."

"The heretics on the ship, Lord Carline?"

"They will have to wait, captain; I dare not split us up. Inform the system admiral to take that ship into custody, and blow it if it resists. We must act against the summoning, or we will have worse by far to worry about than _mere_ traitor marines." His voice told them all exactly how highly Carline reckoned their chances. "Ready weapons and get me a teleport lock. If that summoning is completed the system is doomed."

"Yes, lord daemonhunter." The Grey Knights moved to obey.

* * *

Janey watched the tactical display as _Eyes of the Phoenix _swung away from the dock, heading for Plett IV orbit. A flashing light came live and she opened the comlink. "Mr Morgan, a small ship just uncloaked over Plett IV. It's signalling the local Navy forces, I think. I can't make out the signal; it's in code. But its systems just came up full, shields and weapons lit."

The deep voice came back over comm. "It must be Imperial if it's signalling the Navy. Paranoid idiots probably think we're an enemy. Bring our shields up, Janey, and power up lances and main batteries. Then get the Navy on the comms and tell them we're not a hostile."

"Yes, Mr Morgan. Oh. Mr Morgan, there was just a teleport signature from the small ship. I couldn't make out how many; perhaps five or six. Teleport to the surface; I'm running a capture as close as I can."

"Good, darling. We'll be up in a moment or two."

She could hear the sound of rapid armoured footfalls in the corridor. Then mummy and Mr Morgan came onto the bridge, both in full armour. Mummy handed her a bolt pistol.

"I hope you don't need it, darling."

She nodded, feeling scared. She swallowed and spoke. "We'll be in teleport range in three minutes; I'll put us at high anchor with the autos so I can run tacscan. It's online now, but I don't have a clear signal yet."

Mummy smiled. "I have it." She leant over the comms channel. "This is captain Sara Tarken aboard _Eyes of the Phoenix_ calling Imperial naval command. Respond."

A crackling voice came back. "_Eyes of the Phoenix_, by command of Lord Daemonhunter Carline you are ordered to heave to and prepare to be boarded in the Name of the Emperor."

Janey felt a pain in her tummy. "Mummy, it's happening."

Mummy nodded. "Bring the Geller fields online, darling. That should stop any daemons." And into comm. "Negative, Naval command, we are taking high anchor over Silver Suns. I suggest you get a ship or two in position yourself. _Phoenix_ out." She looked at Mr Morgan. "Let's do it."

"Janey, do you have precise lock?"

"No, Mr Morgan. There's some sort of interference. I can't put you closer than the main entrance to the building."

"Do that, then. I hope we're in time." He lifted the bolter and cocked it. She looked at them both and bit her lip.

"I love you both," she said. Then, "Teleport in five, four three , two, one, mark." There was a flare of light and mummy and Mr Morgan disappeared. Janey loosened her knife in its sheath and cocked her newly acquired bolt pistol before placing it carefully in the console clip.

"The Emperor protects," she whispered, bringing tacscan up to max.

* * *

Suze moaned in ecstasy as the two wonderful tongues worked on her over-stimulated body. How many orgasms had she had? She couldn't remember. There was only the wonder of sensation after sensation. She arched again in pleasure, gazing through heavy-lidded eyes at the party.

Marla hung naked from leather straps, a pink-haired woman thrusting deep into her arse with a huge false penis while two dwarves bit at her breasts with sharpened teeth. A hugely muscled man plied a whip between her spread legs as she screamed in pleasure and pain.

Beautiful, virginal Adrisse was on her knees half-naked, slurping eagerly at a circle of offered cocks, some of which had already spattered her aristocratic features with semen.

A hand pulled her up and she whimpered as her face was pushed into a blue-dyed pudendum. "Lick, slut. Please me."

She groaned in lust as the delicious smell of arousal overwhelmed a lifetime of repugnance, burying her face and tongue willingly into the wet slick folds.

Kiletti 'n'd Killes could barely take her eyes from the horrific orgy in front of her. No-one was paying her any heed as she backed away from the sight of her friends acting like animals, bestial and lusting. It had to be some sort of evil enchantment, she thought, gripping the medallion of the Holy Emperor that hung around her neck. She backed a bit further, then turned and ran. A half-naked man stepped out of the shadows, glittering blade in his hands and she found, in this last moment, that she was too scared to even scream. Then a huge armoured hand wrapped itself round the swordsman and he fell, neck cleanly broken. Kiletti blinked once, then fainted.

"Is she one of them, Lord Daemonhunter?"

The crimson-armoured man shook his head. "Look at her expression. And she clutches the image of the Emperor still. I shall place a calming sleep on her mind; when we are done here, she will be a witness to what passed." He knelt swiftly and placed a firm hand on the girl's forehead., then stood.

"On your mark, Lord Daemonhunter."

Carline nodded. "For the Emperor." He flung himself into the room, a figure of ancient vengeance and protection. Behind him the five grey giants followed, cutting down anything that moved.

Adrisse Magret Hunen flinched as the men around her fell, their bodies shattered and splattering her with blood. She looked round, confused. Where am I? She felt at herself. Memory returned and she felt the sting of futile tears. Oh, merciful Emperor, what have I done. She saw, from her position against a blood-stained couch, six armoured warriors smashing their way through the perverts and participants. A figure moved behind them, clawed and vile and repellently graceful.

"Look out!"

Something exploded in her chest; she looked down, astonished, as she was lifted to her feet by the claw sticking out of her. Then a glowing blue arc cut across her vision, something behind her screamed in unearthly rage and pain, and she collapsed.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm so sorry. So sorry. My Emperor."

She didn't feel brother-sergeant Neihart gently close her eyes.

He looked up at his captain. "If not for her warning, I'd be dead."

Carline nodded grimly. "Enspelled, like many here. Place her apart; she died decently. Once we identify her, she can be returned to her kin."

"And the rest?"

"After we are done, burn everything. Cleanse this place. But first," he indicated the closed double doors at the far end of the chamber. Five grim faces met his.

"In His glorious name, lord Carline."

Carline stalked over to the polished portals, looked at his marine squad, then kicked the door in.

* * *

They materialised in front of the casino entrance, causing consternation and no little awe. Sedreth ignored the citizens who stood, stunned, at the arrival of one of the Emperor's space marines in their very midst and ran to the doors; the guards didn't even consider holding him up, nor Sara, jogging alongside him as she triggered the pilot light on her flamer.

"Who's in charge?" he snarled at the nearest guard.

The man shuddered and said, "Uhm."

Sedreth shook his head. "Doesn't matter. Get .."

Janey's voice came in over the vox. "Mr Morgan, there are some marines in the basement. And somethings else. Lots of somethings else. And tacscan's going all fuzzy again."

Sara looked at him; she'd heard too. He turned, seeking the emergency stairwell. There.

"You. Keep everyone, and I _do mean_ _everyone,_ away from the basement. Then arm yourselves and get the civilians out, and guard that stairwell with your lives."

He didn't wait to see if the man was following orders, just strode to the stairwell doors and kicked them open, then took them down, three at a time, with Sara in rapid pursuit. He heard her on the vox, soft voice hard and grim.

"Janey, power up lances. If we don't win, take the building out. We can't let a daemon loose here."

"Yes, mummy. Lances charging now."

* * *

Carline burst into a nightmare. A woman hung, half-skinned and in what had to be excruciating pain above a twisted altar, her blood dripping into a fanciful chalice of chalcedony and precious stones. Surrounding her were dozens of naked and semi-naked worshippers, all with bloody whips and sharpened objects with which they scourged themselves and each other in reckless abandon. In the middle was a huge figure, armoured in black and pink and gold, with a tentacle in place of one arm. The traitor marine was bellowing a blasphemous chant while he drew a white knife across the screaming sacrifice. Golden mist writhed across the floor, making other, worse, figures indistinct for anyone who had never seen a daemonette of Slaanesh before.

And worst of all, a glowing split in reality itself widened even as he raised his psycannon. They were almost too late.

"In His Glorious name, death to the traitors! Forward!" he bellowed above the tumult, his powersword cutting a surprised guard in two as he led his Grey Knights into a battle they had to win.

_Hmm. Interesting. Exquisite pain, and, ah, a worthy enemy. Yes, He would answer._

"For the Emperor!" came the battle-cry from brother Gabriel's left. The Terminator hesitated for a fraction of a second, just long enough for the blast to rip him apart in a wall of jarring sound.

Mendez cursed. Noise marines. "Emperor's Children heretics. Kill them all!" He flung himself forwards, storm bolter tearing chunks from fancifully embossed armour. A warrior laughed insanely even as his chest was torn open. Mendez smashed his force halberd through the traitor's neck, severing head and left arm alike in a spurt of blackish blood.

Neihart leapt into the mêlée, his own force-halberd a blur of prowess and death. Black- and pastel-armoured warriors fell, but there were more and more coming from somewhere.

Brother Joshua bellowed a Word and cultists fell all across the chamber, even a couple of the traitors staggering backwards under the impact of the Emperor's Blessing. Joshua used his force-halberd two-handed as he spun and whirled, a massive titan of destruction.

There were cries of rapture and the hairs on Mendez' neck rose as something coalesced above the altar.

"It's mine," bellowed Carline, stitching a line of blessed psycannon bolts across the thing's chest. An unearthly roar of rage and pain left most of the remaining cultists on the floor, writhing in pain as blood poured from ears and eyes, mouths and noses. The daemonhunter lunged, his glowing blade burying itself deep in the chest of the still-forming daemon. Mendez cursed quietly. A Keeper of Secrets. Now they really were in trouble. He called on the Emperor and all his own psychic strength and spoke a Word of his own. The daemon staggered, then lifted Lord Carline off his feat and casually ripped his arm off.

"No retreat, brothers. Keep those traitors busy while I take the daemon. In the Emperor's name."

He didn't wait for an acknowledgement, just stepped forward to challenge the creature. It eyed him for a second, then a burst of promethium roared past his shoulder to engulf it and it bellowed in fury. What?

"For the Emperor!" A woman's voice. His tacscan showed two additional figures, a woman in power armour and a space marine. He glanced to the left and blinked in surprise. Both wore armour of purple and gold, the aquila bright on their chests, and a golden winged talon device that Mendez did not know on their left shoulders.

The traitors engaged with brothers Neihart, Joshua and Mallory screamed in fury. Everything seemed to pause, then a terrible voice snarled, velvet and evil. "You! Traitor! I shall enjoy your song of pain, Sedreth."

The marine chuckled. "Captain Marius. Long time, no see. I hope you can remember how to use a sword. Because I certainly do. Time to die, bastard."

He drew a chainsword and combat knife and took a duelling stance, then leapt into the mass of traitors with a bellow of laughter even as the ground he'd been standing on disintegrated under the horrific sonic weapons of the traitors. A burning arm swept out from the altar, reminding Mendez of his own peril. He parried desperately, aware that Neihart was down and that ever more traitors were appearing out the mists.

"Sara, the sacrifice is still summoning them. Cut her down."

Sara nodded, flung her half-full flame unit into a group of traitors who were charging Sedreth, cursing quietly to herself as it failed to explode, and drew her sword. Ducking past the grey-armoured terminator as he duelled the Keeper she leapt high, cutting the bonds holding the sacrifice up. A massive claw smashed her backwards even as the dying woman fell clear and the glowing portal seemed to shudder. Red lights showed on her armour displays and she barely parried the follow-up that gouged a two-metre chunk out of the wall. One of the Terminators shouted something and the daemon screamed in rage and pain, starting to de-coalesce, drawing back through the closing gateway. Then the Terminator fell, some sort of sonic weapon flinging him through a disintegrating wall with his weapon in pieces and bits of his armour flaking off. She pulled her bolter and opened up, targeting anything in black and trying to prevent them from interfering with Sedreth's one on one duel with the enemy commander.

Mendez drove his force-halberd into the daemon's chest, speaking a Word as he did so. There was an explosion of sound and light and he was flung like a rag doll across the chamber.

Sedreth laughed through his suit speakers. "You always were a pussy, Marius." His chainsword smashed down, shattering the other's shoulder-plate and almost tearing off his arm. The answering blow though powerful was slightly out of alignment and he flicked it aside with his knife, the massive smoking blade screaming in frustration.

Marius recovered quickly, leaping back to prevent the follow-up that would have ended it. "You dare, Sedreth, to wear the ancient colours. To dress a woman in them? You shall die in endless pain." His voice was nightmare.

"Noise marines. You're pathetic, the lot of you. She's a hundred times the astartes that any of you ever were," he answered, his voice taunting. Instinct brought him sideways as an enraged warrior, lidless eyes blazing hatred, blasted the ground he'd been standing on; his knife flew true, finding the exposed throat. "Too stupid to wear a helmet, even," he laughed, and launched himself into a blistering attack sequence which drove Marius backwards.

A monstrous explosion lifted them all and flung them across the room, traitors and loyalists alike bouncing off each other to land in an ungainly pile against the far wall.

Was the building shaking? He couldn't tell, and honestly didn't care.

He heaved himself upright, taking the head from a traitor before the warrior was even aware he was there. A bolter opened up from his left and he saw Sara, her right shoulder-plate missing, kneeling as if at target practice, picking her shots, ignoring the return volleys which bounced off her armour and the trail of blood running down her left thigh.

A huge grey-armoured Terminator burst back into the room, cracks all over the thick plate, but with a storm bolter in one hand roaring death. Half a dozen Emperor's Children flung themselves at the Grey Knight in an orgy of fury and destruction, followed by half a dozen more. The man's heavy bolts tore some apart, but the others dragged him down, overwhelming the warrior by sheer weight of numbers.

The Grey Knight captain exploded from a pile of bodies, and leapt to his brother's assistance, the massive force-halberd in his hands a blur of eldritch blue energies.

Sedreth killed another, then he was there again. Marius had lost his helmet. His once-handsome face was a vision of horror, eyes stitched upon and ears and nose long gone, a hairless blasphemy of humanity. Sedreth casually decapitated a third marine as he staggered upright, then deliberately took off his own helmet, hooking it to his utility belt. Marius nodded slowly and lifted his daemonblade in cold salute.

"Time to die, traitor." They both spoke the same words at the same time and for a second their eyes met. Then the blades blurred as they loosed the fury of ten millennia on each other.

"For the Emperor!"

The smoking blade went wide and just for a fraction of a second, Sedreth saw the acceptance in his former captain's eyes. Then his own weapon tore through bone and flesh and Marius was just a headless twitching corpse. He kicked the daemonblade clear and sought another opponent, but the Children were all dead or dying.

The Grey Knight captain looked at him. "You are a fine swordsman, marine. And your arrival was, timely. But I will have an explanation."

Sedreth shrugged and looked down at the corpse of a warrior he'd once been proud to serve under. "Later, captain. This den must be cleansed. That altar,.." he gestured. "Have you the means to destroy it?"

The man nodded, his eyes cold inside the psyker hood of his armour. "Indeed. And we must see to our dead and wounded also. Brother-sergeant?"

Neihart gave his captain a thumbs-up sign from where he lay, one leg severed, on the gore-stained floor.

Sedreth looked at Sara who was picking up her flamer from where it had landed. She nodded and lifted it, streaming yellow-white promethium over the corpses of traitor marines and cultists alike. Someone screamed and tried to run; there was a single shot and the naked figure fell. Sara sent a burst of fire over the body, reducing it to ashes in seconds.

The Grey Knight captain carried the half-skinned sacrifice clear; by some miracle she was still alive. He looked down at her. There was no healing these injuries, he knew.

"Sister, I am sorry we were not in time. I can offer you the Emperor's peace," he said, his voice gentle. The woman nodded.

"The, the.."

"All dead, child. You are avenged." A tear ran down her cheek and he closed her hand on a icon from his armour. She gave a faint smile. The dry snap of her neck was loud in the stillness. Mendez lowered her slowly to the ground. "Rest in His Light, sister. Your suffering was not in vain."

Brother-captain Mendez stood, watching his battered marines as they carefully destroyed relics of chaos, twisted armour, and daemonblades, the crisping of human and no-longer-human flesh a hissing accompaniment. He noticed idly that the woman in the purple and gold armour wore a Black Templars purity seal, proudly displayed on the front corner of the same left shoulder-plate that bore, like the big marine watching the destruction cold-eyed, what had to be the ancient codex symbol of the Emperor's Children. Her name was incised in black Imperial Gothic script, 'Sara', etched centimetres deep into the solid gold. Time to deal with these two in a moment, first, his squad.

Mendez looked at the bodies. Lord Daemonhunter Carline was alive though unconscious; missing an arm, he wouldn't be fighting daemons for a year or two. Brother Gabriel was dead, brother Mallory likewise. Brother-sergeant Neihart had lost a leg. Brother Joshua's armour would need months of repair; even as he watched, a knee-plate detached itself to fall and rock slowly on the floor. Joshua winced as he bent to pick it up, his astartes stoicism pushed to the limit by multiple fractures and organ damage. His own armour had more red lights than green, and his bio-readouts indicated he had been wounded fourteen times. He flexed his left arm; broken in three places. If those two hadn't come out of nowhere, he and his squad would all be dead, of that there was no doubt. He looked across the chamber.

The stranger marine met his questioning gaze. Mendez realised that he was tall even for an astartes, tacscan giving his height as two point nine two five seven metres. Even in his own Terminator armour, he had to look up slightly to meet the man's cold grey-blue eyes.

"My apologies for not introducing myself, brother-captain. Morgan Sedreth, sergeant, 79th combat century, Third Legion Astartes." He gestured to the headless burning corpse of the captain he'd killed. "Captain Marius was my company commander, a long long time ago, back before the Heresy."

"I have heard of this Marius. An infamous name."

Sedreth nodded. "He and his combat century, the 5th, became the first noise marines; they are addicted to the noise of battle and use weapons which destroy with discordant blasts of sound. I had to taunt him to take me on hand to hand, or we'd all be dead." He gave a grim smile. "Their joy in battle is one of the few weaknesses of the Children; they tend to lose discipline if you can get under their skin a bit. Marius was never truly my equal with a blade; only Lucius is, really, amongst the surviving Children. I had to get him angry enough to face me one on one or he'd have organised his warriors to tear us all apart."

Mendez nodded. "You sound regretful, Morgan Sedreth." He didn't bother to hide his suspicion; whoever this man appeared to be now, he obviously had been an Emperor's Children marine and thus a traitor. That did not preclude gaining information from him however.

"He was fine man, once. His tactics in the Laer campaign would have been worthy of any Imperial Academy's praise. But it had to be done. Marius and his company embraced the worship of their patron power to an extent rare even amongst the fallen Legions. There is no saving such a man." He gestured to the altar with its now-melted chalice. "Do you need demolition charges?"

Mendez shook his head and picked up Lord Carline's powersword. Raising it in two hands, he stepped close to the slab and spoke a Word while bringing the blessed blade down with all his physical and psychic strength. The altar exploded in a shower of stone and a faint scream of rage echoed in his mind.

Sedreth nodded slightly. "It's been a long time since I saw the Grey Knights in action. You remain as fearsome as ever. Sara, do you have enough fuel left to cleanse the antechamber too?"

The woman nodded. "Only a fifth of a tank, but that should suffice." She removed her helmet, hanging the corvus-style protection from her utility belt. Her face bore a faint scar on the left cheek which did little to detract from a considerable beauty. Mendez looked at her inquiringly and she smiled briefly, a fractional light in dark cold eyes

"Captain Sara Tarken, brother-captain. Owner and commander of rogue trader _Eyes of the Phoenix_. Honoured to meet you."

The strike destroyer. "_Eyes of the Phoenix_? That is your ship?"

She nodded. "Lord Commander Calgar confirmed title last year when we were at Macragge." She gave a wry smile and his psychic abilities read the unspoken 'not that he wanted to' in her mind despite the psi-shield she wore. There was a certain sadness about the thought and he wondered why. However, courtesies first.

"I am brother-captain Mendez, captain. That is brother-sergeant Neihart, and brother-astartes Joshua. My brothers Mallory and Gabriel fell today. Our commander is Lord Daemonhunter Carline."

She nodded. "The loss of two such warriors is a grievous one for humanity."

Her commlink buzzed. "Janey?"

"Mummy, there's ships incoming. Hostile warships at system zenith. The Navy are on intercept course, except for one with weapons locked on _Phoenix_."

Tarken looked grim. "Morgan, did you get that?"

He nodded. "This ritual was not the only string to their bow. I should have guessed. Marius would not have arrived with so few."

So few? More than thirty traitor corpses lay charred near to ashes amidst the hundred or so dead cultists. It was unusual to find chaos marines in larger numbers. Mendez looked at his brothers. "We must give what assistance we can to the Navy."

Sedreth looked at him. "Your ship is that small scout at polar low anchor, yes?"

He nodded, thinking of the pitiful ship-to-ship weapons they had available.

"Are your men competent in ship-board weaponry?"

Mendez gave him a cold look. "Of course."

Sedreth nodded. "Good. We're short-crewed and could do with someone else to command the batteries. Janey, can you 'port everyone up?"

Mendez could hear the reply. It sounded like a young girl's voice. "No, Mr Morgan. There's too much interference. I can't get a clean lock."

Sedreth gave them all a look. "Carry the Fallen. Brother-sergeant, can you walk?"

Neihart nodded, using his force-halberd to lever himself to his feet. The other gave him a grim smile, as if he'd expected no less. "Sara, you're rearguard. Once we're out of the antechamber, burn everything in it to ashes."

She nodded. Sedreth stooped and lifted the massive armoured weight of Lord Carline into a fireman's carry. He unslung his bolter with a just-in-case expression and looked at Mendez, who nodded slowly. It would allow them to investigate these people, after all. He lifted brother Gabriel's armoured body; Joshua carried brother Mallory and Neihart stayed to the middle, limping slowly with his storm bolter unslung and cocked in his left hand. The woman, Tarken, paused, then lifted the dead sacrifice, ignoring the sticky blood that stained her armour as she slung the woman over her left shoulder.

"She doesn't deserve to be left with these scum."

Mendez nodded agreement. "There are two beyond the antechamber, one dead, but not cultists."

Sedreth met his eyes coolly. "We'll manage them also. No honest citizen should be left in this den."

They moved cautiously through the wrecked, blood-stained antechamber. Mendez noted clinically that someone, presumably their two new companions, had used frag grenades in here. They picked up the dead girl who'd shouted that vital warning, and the unconscious woman who'd been trying to slip away from the horror, then Tarken opened up with her flamer, skilfully sweeping the fires over all the bodies and especially the remains of the daemonettes. In seconds the chamber was ablaze, a single mass of flame in which the stench of burning bodies was distinctly and unpleasantly clear. The building's fire protection system sprayed water over all of it, to little effect.

"That's me out," she said, unslinging her bolter again and slamming a fresh magazine into place. Mendez noted it was a standard sickle pattern bolter elegantly chased in gold and bronze. "The sprinkler system will prevent any spread I should think. Let's go."

They moved slowly up the staircase, emerging in a large gaming chamber, its tables and machines empty of people. Several armed men and women in uniform looked at them with relief and no little worry. Mendez reflected idly that these people could not often have seen space marines, let alone space marines as battered and injured as they were.

A small group of richly-dressed Imperial administrators came towards them. The leader, a slim arrogant-looking man, spoke without waiting to be addressed.

"What is the meaning of all this?"

Mendez just looked at him. The silence stretched. "And you are?"

"Under-secretary Colgan, senior assistant to his Excellency Governor n'Hallet."

"Brother-captain Mendez. By my personal order, no-one, and I do mean no-one, is to go down to that basement without my say-so. You may consider yourself under arrest, under-secretary, as is the entire administration of this system, the Governor included. The owners of this building are to be likewise arrested and held pending interrogation by the Inquisition."

The man stood still in shock. Before he could protest, Mendez went on.

"The Emperor, in his infinite wisdom, understands that men and women need to relax, to enjoy themselves away from the cares of day to day living. This debauchery, however, is not acceptable. You will order the closure of all gambling establishments, all brothels, all sellers of stimulants. You will so order now, under-secretary."

"But, but,.." the man waffled. Mendez let his fury show.

"Thanks to your laxness and incompetence, a heretical cult to the ruinous powers had established itself here. Two of my brothers died to kill the daemon summoned not one hour ago in this very building. Lord Daemonhunter Carline may not survive his injuries. I suggest that you examine your conscience, under-secretary. For even if it is mere laxness and incompetence, you and yours have a great deal to answer for. And I shall not be lax in finding the answers."

The man wilted. "Of course, sir, as you command."

Sedreth beckoned one of the uniformed men, who seemed to recognise him. "How far back are the evacuees?"

"The building is clear, sir, as you ordered. I also ordered the evacuation of all adjacent buildings within a five block radius. That's still ongoing; under-secretary Colgan wanted it stopped."

"Did he indeed? Recommence at once. And when you're done, get your people out. Under-secretary, you and yours as well. No-one within a five block radius of this place." Mendez looked at him and he gave a tight smile. "Our main lances are targeted on the building, just in case."

"A sensible precaution. But we will not destroy it just yet. There may be evidence to find." Mendez did not allow his instant suspicion to show on his face. Not in front of what might well be cultists, or at least those bribed or influenced by cultists.

Sedreth nodded briefly, a single sharp acknowledgement. "Janey, have you teleport lock?"

"Yes, Mr Morgan."

"'Port when ready."

It came through general channels; astartes inter-unit, rarely used but always available to ensure that chapters could talk without compromising internal battle-cants and the like. "Teleport in ten. Eleven signals. Acknowledge."

Mendez acknowledged. "Squad Mendez acknowledges. Squad strength, three effectives; two dead. Three civilians, two dead, one unconscious also due teleport. One additional combatant, wounded and unconscious, likewise."

Sedreth's voice was calm. "Two effectives to teleport, _Phoenix_."

"Affirmed, brother-captain, brother-sergeant. Eleven to teleport. Teleport immediate. Mark."

There was the familiar sensation and they were all in a large chamber, clearly on a warship, but deserted. Sedreth walked swiftly to a locker and pulled out a pair of gurneys loaded with diagnostic equipment, still with the Lord Daemonhunter over his shoulders. He lowered the man's armoured form carefully onto the heavyweight frame. Mendez watched as the big marine attached medical equipment with an expertise that an apothecary might have envied. He kept his own peace as the warrior did the same with brother-sergeant Neihart, assisting the grizzled Terminator to attach diagnostic and trauma packs to his armour.

A girl's voice came over the main speakers. "All crew to the bridge, immediate. Incoming hostile vessel, frigate class, seven light-minutes to battery range. Shields and Geller fields online."

Tarken gently laid down the woman she was holding, then turned. "It's this way." She ran from the room, leaving a faint trail of blood, though whether her own or the dead sacrifice, it was impossible to determine. Mendez carefully laid Gabriel's body to the deck and folded his brother's hands across his chest. "I shall be back, brother."

Joshua was doing likewise, and both followed the woman, who was waiting at a large lift. Behind him he heard Sedreth speaking.

"Will you be alright, brother-sergeant? There are additional medpacks here if you need."

Neihart's voice rumbled. "I shall be fine. Go."

Sedreth's running steps rang along the corridor as he followed them quickly into the lift. The four of them stood in silence as the lift rose half a dozen floors or so. It opened onto what would have been a typical astartes warship's corridor, except for its emptiness; Sedreth and Tarken turned left and the two Grey Knights followed them onto a large bridge where a young girl with a headset, no more than nine years old, sat alone in the secondary command chair. Only three stations were active. She flicked switches with an expertise clearly borne of experience, bringing two more stations to life, and barely glanced up as they came in, speaking rapidly and professionally.

"Mummy, the scan plot is on your HUD. Engines are online and full power is available at your discretion. All batteries are online, lances at sixty percent. Nearest enemy vessel bears two gamma by seven, out of standard range by sixty-two light-seconds. Transferring main lances to station seven; starboard broadside to your two, Mr Morgan. Port broadside to station nine. Captain Mendez, if you and brother-astartes Joshua can take stations seven and nine, please?"

Tarken dropped into the pilot's chair, already flicking switches. A holographic image of the system came down around her head. "All hands take hold. Maximum acceleration in five seconds. Janey, do you have the local naval command?"

"Yes, mummy, but they're not very keen to talk to us. They want to arrest us."

"Brother-captain, I'd appreciate it if you could call off the hounds. The Navy needs every ship it has right now, us included."

Mendez met her eyes. "Captain, where is the rest of your crew?"

She grinned and tapped the main control panel. "Here. The ship herself. Sedreth tells me she was automated centuries ago, since crew were quite hard to find."

Mendez looked at her in astonishment, his psychic hood making it easy to tell she spoke the truth. How could anyone automate a ship this size?

The girl, Janey, gave him a quick grin. "Comm is open to your station, brother-captain. Channel two."

Mendez looked into merry brown eyes, then turned and spoke into the comm-unit, visibly startling the naval comm officer who looked back at him on the vid-link.. "This is brother-captain Mendez aboard rogue trader _Eyes of the Phoenix_ to Plett naval command. By my authority, this ship is to be considered friendly. We are proceeding at max to engage." He glanced at the readouts, gauging the vessel's systems. "Admiral, our firepower and shielding approximate a frigate-class vessel, at least. Where do you need us?"

Sedreth spoke quietly to brother Joshua. "The lances work; they're accurate but they're old and the crystals need replacement. Take them to no more than sixty percent unless you want to blow the ship." Joshua nodded.

* * *

All three of the mismatched, tiny, crew were all business. "Firing solution on enemy vessel bearing two gamma by eight. Deflection estimate point three seven."

"Scan indicates Imperial vessel _Shrike_ being boarded. Scout-ship at polar anchor taking fire from incoming enemy." Damnation, thought Mendez. That ship had vital records.

Joshua spoke quietly. "Lances online. Firing."

"Direct hit. Enemy shields damaged but holding. _INS Oath's Hammer_ engaging. Four direct hits with class III missiles. Enemy shields down on starboard bow lower hull."

"Lances at thirty percent. Firing."

"Direct hit enemy lower starboard bow. Enemy has lost all bow shielding. Fire incoming."

The ship didn't even waver, shrugging off the incoming barrage as if it were water. Mendez wondered what had been done to make her so well-shielded.

"_Oath's Hammer_ taking damage." Smaller than themselves, their closest ally was having a hard time under accurate and ferocious fire from a ship of its own class.

"Come a point to port, Sara. I can't get a good firing solution at this angle."

"One point to port. Acknowledged. On mark. Mark."

"Solution plotted. Starboard broadside firing."

The calm young voice reported it, although Mendez could see for himself the result of the devastating broadside. "Eleven direct hits. Enemy bow open to vacuum. Enemy is on fire along her port battery."

Joshua's calm voice. "Firing solution plotted. Lances at fifty percent. Firing."

"Direct hit. Enemy open to vacuum along port side. Enemy vessel no longer firing and is attempting to withdraw. _Oath's Hammer_, this is _Eyes of the Phoenix_. Do you require assistance?"

The return image was distorted, but the vox came through clear enough. "Negative, _Eyes of the Phoenix_. Manoeuvring positive, shields online at forty-five percent. We have sufficient firepower to finish them. Admiral's request you take vector eight-tau at all speed."

"Acknowledged, _Oath's Hammer_. The Emperor protects."

"Proceeding vector eight-tau, point seven-three _c_." Mendez blinked. That was fast; he'd never been aboard a ship this size that could make three-quarters of light-speed in-system. The enormous acceleration pressed them all back in their seats.

"_Shrike_ just detonated her engines bearing six-gamma by seven. Enemy flagship was caught in the explosion. Remaining enemy vessels are going to warp."

"They're running away?"

"Enemy flagship has blown up." The girl looked round. "Yes, mummy, all of them are going into warp."

Sedreth's bass rumble sounded from his left. "Naval casualties?"

The girl glanced at her scan. "Two ships destroyed, three heavily damaged. The enemy, whoever they were, lost four ships, including their flagship when _Shrike_ blew up."

Sedreth looked grim. "It's not like the Children to run from a fight. Especially a fight they might win."

"Perhaps the fight served their purpose, Morgan Sedreth, and planted an agent amongst the Emperor's astartes," said Mendez, turning in his chair.

Sedreth started to laugh, then sobered. "You remain suspicious, captain Mendez? Why doesn't that surprise me?"

"You admit to being an Emperor's Children space marine. You rebelled against the Emperor. It is only the fact that I cannot read any taint that has held my fire thus far."

He nodded. "Naturally. That and the fact that my companion wears a Black Templars purity seal on the same colours I wear."

Joshua's voice was quiet and calm, as it always was. "And what do you wear, Morgan Sedreth? The feather of some chaos beast?"

Sedreth genuinely laughed at that, looking fondly at the long white pinion. "Have you never seen a Baal ruby, brother-astartes Joshua? This is an honour I received before the Heresy, before your chapter even existed. I put it away long ago only to find it again almost by accident. When I fall in battle, as one day we all must, Sara or Janey will return it to the Ninth Legion. Until then, it has saved my life more than once, and I will continue to bear it in memory of its original owner, who saved the survivors of my century on Murder long ago."

Both Grey Knights blinked. Mendez shook his head. The Ninth? Joshua's voice was stunned and disbelieving. "That cannot be."

Sedreth merely looked at them. Eventually Tarken broke the silence. "Are you all quite finished? Captain Mendez, we will be happy to show and your men round the ship once we are at dock again. In the meantime, I believe we have wounded still needing attention?"

* * *

Grey Knight brother-sergeant Andus Neihart leaned back against the wall, running repeatedly through meditation rituals of pain relief. His leg was severed neatly just more than halfway down the femur, courtesy of one of the accursed noise marines, and although his enhanced metabolism and ancient, blessed, armour had prevented him from bleeding to death the wound would have sent any warrior other than a psyker astartes unconscious with shock. He had spent much of the past hour reviewing the tactical recording of the fight in the basement, partly to keep his mind off the pain, and partly out of interest to see who their two mysterious reinforcements were. There was no doubt that the big marine was a superlative warrior, nor that the enemy had obviously known him. More to the point, there was no question but that without their intervention the squad would have died. The enemy's tactics had been skilful and deadly; their fields of fire superbly married to each other. Had the big marine and his companion not unexpectedly intervened squad Mendez would have been caught in a lethal crossfire, unable to fight effectively due to the daemon at their back.

He pondered over the meaning of the exchanges. Clearly the enemy commander, and his men, had considered the big marine in codex (codex!) Emperor's Children colours to be a traitor. Which indicated that he had once fought alongside them, presumably during the Heresy and subsequently. Which, in turn, meant that he must be killed. But. The Black Templars did not casually hand out purity seals, nor could a purity seal, of any chapter, be taken from the dead and retain its aura. And the woman's seal had the unmistakable aura of one that had been used against daemons. Logically that meant it was real and hers.

Nor could he consider the situation to be a careful trick. He could not believe that the infamous former marine captain known as Marius would be casually sacrificed even by the ruinous powers; they valued their more competent pawns, and Marius' long tale of blasphemous slaughter was equal to almost any other he could think of. Including the vile being known as Lucius, whom the marine Sedreth had mentioned.

A thought struck him. This Sedreth, if he truly was who he said he was, must know more of the chaos legions than any other man alive. It was the duty of the Grey Knights, as the Emperor's chosen for the task, to elicit as much information as they could. The lives of the crew – wherever the crew might be on this ship – were a secondary consideration.

He slowly levered himself to his feet... foot. It would need a prosthesis, and he would be out of action for months. He grimaced slightly; warriors had fought on for their Emperor with worse injuries. Soft footsteps sounded in the corridor and he turned slowly to face the door.

A small girl put her head round the door. She smiled. "Hello. I'm Janey. Mr Morgan and your captain are arguing; I came down to see if you're alright?"

Neihart nodded. "I shall recover."

Her smile widened. "Good. I brought the transports so we can lay out your brothers in the chapel. And the poor ladies who were killed. But I better check the diagnostics on Mr Carline first. Mummy said he lost an arm."

"Indeed. His armour should have shut down the blood flow automatically, but he is not a space marine."

"And he hasn't got all the enhancements that stop you bleeding to death," she said in a matter-of-fact voice. "I know. We had to make special modifications to mummy's armour. And I suppose we'll have to for mine when I get big enough." She checked the readouts on the medical equipment. "I think that's all okay. Mr Morgan knows the equipment much better than me, but he tol' me what's an okay range and Mr Carline's readings are in it." She turned to him and gave him a stern look. "You should be lying down. Walking around won't make you better."

Neihart shrugged inside his armour. It hurt; he ignored the pain. "Nor will it make me any worse, child."

"Okay." She took out a control device and two small transport platforms, the type used for moving munitions, rolled slowly into the room. She looked dubiously at the two Fallen astartes in their Terminator armour. "They're too heavy for just you and me to move. But they'll all be finished arguing soon. Brother-captain Mendez isn't going to start shooting unless he has a reason and Mr Morgan won't give him one."

"You are very confident."

"Mr Morgan has spoken to space marines before. Astartes are smarter than normal people."

Neihart absorbed this silently, watching the child as she took out some sort of wand device and ran it over Lord Carline. "What is that?"

"A scanner. Mr Morgan uses it for armour diagnostics. This armour is still drawing power correctly, but it's a different model to the armour we have. So is yours, actually. That's tactical dreadnought armour, isn't it?"

He nodded, surprised by the question. And, if he was honest, with the correct designation for Terminator armour.

"We have some, but mainly pieces; no complete suits. Mr Morgan says he prefers the speed of his own armour, and that mummy isn't big enough to use a Terminator suit. We adapted a suit of Mark IV armour for her. And a helmet from a mark VI suit."

"You have suits of astartes armour on board?"

She grinned. "Oh yes. We found thirty-four brand new suits in an abandoned armoury on the third floor. And seventy-three suits awaiting repair."

"That is a great many. What happened to the owners?"

"They died on Murder. The century, including reinforcements, lost one hundred and forty-two killed and thirty-eight wounded – which was all the survivors – before Lord Sanguinius arrived. It was made up to strength from survivors of other centuries, and they already had their own armour, of course. But most of their transports and vehicles were lost. Mr Morgan said that was why they were told off as the Primarch's escort to the Iron Hands instead of dropping on Isstvan. I think he's still sad about that."

"Oh?" Neihart did his best to feign disinterest.

She nodded sadly. "I think he sometimes wishes he'd died with his brothers under captain Tarvitz." She grinned suddenly. "But sometimes I think he's just annoyed he didn't get the chance to measure himself against Angron or Mortarion."

"Do not speak those names."

The child gave a small nod. "I know. I wonder if they regret what they did, if they ever realised they were tricked by the chaos powers."

Neihart looked at her. "That is blasphemy, child."

She met his eyes with the innocence of youth. "Don't you ever feel sorry for the cultists you kill?"

"Enough! I shall not listen to such heresy!" He pointed at her and spoke a Word.

She looked back at him, untouched. "What does 'Inkametibnkastet' mean?"

Brother-captain Mendez's deep voice answered her. "It is a Word of the Emperor, child. It focusses His power to destroy daemons and the minions of chaos. Were you a servant of chaos you would have been blasted from your very bones."

"Oh. Right. But I'm not."

Brother Joshua's calm quiet voice helped Neihart to re-focus after the expenditure of so much psychic energy. "Obviously. It is as well for you that brother-sergeant Neihart did not use his force-halberd. That would have killed you regardless."

"Yes. Most fortunate. I'd hate to have to kill you for killing my daughter," said the woman from the doorway in a cool tone. "Now, are we all finished with the machismo and threats? Good. Then brother-captain, perhaps you and your brothers would care to load your Fallen so that we can take them to rest in the chapel? Fighting amongst ourselves is a poor way to reward their sacrifice."

Brother-captain Mendez looked at her. "We have a small votive on our own ship."

"Which is damaged and barely holding low anchor," said the big marine, Sedreth. "Captain, if you wish to inspect the chapel first, it is not at issue. Brother-captain Abdiel of the Black Templars used it when he was our guest while we were docked at Macragge. Though it has always been a place of memorial rather than worship, I am certain it will meet any requirements you have."

"Memorial?" asked Neihart, his curiosity aroused. Why have a chapel at all if not for prayer?

Sedreth nodded, the briefest inclination of his close-cropped head. "The Imperial Truth was always secular, thus the ship's chapel was a place where we commemorated our Fallen during the Great Crusade."

"I would see this memorial, Morgan Sedreth." Neihart's statement surprised himself before he realised he was intensely curious about the place. "With your permission, brother-captain?"

Mendez nodded. "We shall visit this memorial, Morgan Sedreth. Since we are at high anchor there is no danger to the vessel."

The purple-armoured marine merely nodded and led them without a word.

* * *

It was like, and yet unlike, any chapel the Grey Knights had ever seen. The centrepiece was a simple block of pale stone, carved with the aquila and, as they looked closer, the astartes catechism. On it lay a bright purple cloth edged in gold, and on that, two chased and gilded candlesticks and a large chalice in the form of a winged talon. Above the altar hung a huge purple and gold banner with the words _'Legio Astartes III'_ and _'79__th__ – Stand fast'_ circling a red and bronze raptor rising from white flames, and bearing long lists of names stitched in gold thread.

"What are the names, Sedreth?"

"Planets. Battles. Campaign honours. The bird is a phoenix. This was – is – the century's honour standard. It was never taken out of this place, except to battle, the honours added to over the years. It is older than the Legion sigil, than the very name 'Emperor's Children'."

Mendez nodded. So far, so like any astartes chapter. What was different was the long long lane of alcoves and their accompanying banners, torn and battle-scarred and in colours of more than one of the ancient Legions. He walked slowly closer. A dark green banner caught his eye amongst the others – the Salamanders. He recognised the Imperial Fists and the Blood Angels, the Raven Guard and the Iron Hands. A tattered White Scars banner hung beside an equally shot-torn midnight blue and silver standard he realised must belong to the Night Lords and he swore softly, realising he was standing under a World Eaters honour standard. It still bore faint blood-stains on the blue and white silk.

"I do not recognise all these colours, Morgan Sedreth." He had to struggle to keep his voice calm.

The man's mouth quirked in what might have been amusement. "The Legion standards are purple and gold. The blue and white with the jaws are World Eater standards; the skull and star in green on white are Death Guard. The white sun on crimson is the Thousand Sons. The chained 'A' is Alpha Legion. The black wolf's head against a crescent is Luna Wolves. I presume you recognise the iconography of the Night Lords and Iron Warriors; they haven't changed it much."

"No Word Bearers?" he asked walking along the long aisle. Each alcove held a marble column about a metre high on which was engraved a list of names. And units, he realised.

Sedreth shook his head. "No. Nor Ultramarines or Dark Angels. The century didn't fight alongside them in any campaign of note. Although some of their Fallen are listed on the memorial columns."

Mendez barely heard him, his unbelieving gaze caught by the two portraits. He heard brother Joshua's indrawn breath. "This is the Primarch Sanguinius."

Sedreth's calm voice seemed to come from a great distance. "And the Legion's Primarch. As they were on Murder, planet one-forty-twenty. We lost a lot of good astartes there. If it hadn't been for the Primarchs getting down and dirty, we would have lost many more. Both ourselves and the Blood Angels lost more men in that single planetary campaign than we'd lost in the previous five decades of war put together."

He looked up at the three shot-torn flags above his head. "The other banner is a Luna Wolves standard?"

"Yes. Horus and his Legion arrived in time for the mop-up. Loken's company dropped to reinforce us. That's their company standard; captain Loken insisted we take it."

"Loken? I have never heard the name."

"He was one of Horus's four senior captains, what were called the Mournival. Died on Isstvan III."

Neihart's voice was cold. "No loss than."

Sedreth stopped, still as the grave. "Every warrior on these columns died for the Emperor, brother-sergeant." He turned abruptly and stalked out.

Neihart looked after him. "I gather I touched a nerve, brother-captain."

Mendez nodded. The girl-child, Janey, gave them both a disgusted look, and turned her back on them both, folding her arms across her chest and scowling. The three Grey Knights looked at her in astonishment, understandably nonplussed by anyone, let alone a tiny preteen, openly disapproving of the Emperor's astartes. Tarken's voice was calm.

"She's right, you know. That was extremely ill-mannered. As it happens, Captain Garviel Loken of the Luna Wolves died fighting for his Emperor along with more than thirty-seven thousand other loyal astartes." She paused, then went on into the suddenly stricken silence. "When he and the warriors he dropped with were betrayed by their own commanders. He and Lorgan Torgaddon were killed in the fighting by their Mournival brothers, Horus Aximand and Ezekyle Abaddon."

Neihart looked at her; Abaddon the Destroyer, warlord of the Black Legion, was the most wanted man in the Imperium. "And you know this, how?"

A deep voice answered from the doorway. "Abaddon himself told me, during a lull in the fighting at the Siege of Terra, while we were waiting for the Death Guard to get into position for another assault. He laughed and showed me the scars on his chest-plate from Loken's chainsword. Little Horus was there too. He said he'd killed Torgaddon."

"The histories say the Emperor's Children took no part in the Siege of the Imperial Palace."

"The histories are wrong. About five hundred of us were there at any time, maybe a thousand fought there in total over the months. The majority of the Legion were elsewhere."

"Committing mass murder."

Sedreth shook his head. "Far worse, captain Mendez, far, far worse. Trust me, you don't even want to imagine what the Legion did on Terra." He met their grim faces with the cold, cold look of a man who has truly been through hell. "However, I have something to show you. Follow me."

He swung round and walked back along the corridor without a word. Bemused and curious the three Grey Knights followed, Neihart using his force-halberd like crutch. Behind them, the woman and girl trailed, for all the world as if they were out for a stroll along the beach. Only the still battle-scarred armour that Sara Tarken wore belied the casual impression.

* * *

Sedreth led them to a lift and they took it down in silence. He turned left out of it and opened a pair of embossed double doors; an armoury. They followed him through and Joshua's indrawn breath hissed; the dour marine's equivalent of a gasp of shock. Neihart could understand exactly why his brother was surprised. There must have been a hundred suits of astartes armour in the vaulted chamber, all of them the same rich purple and gold as Sedreth's own, all of them bearing a gleaming aquila on the breastplate and a winged talon in gold on the left shoulder. On the walls were racks of gleaming weaponry, bolters, heavy bolters, flamers, chainswords, all of it adorned and chased in gilts and bronzes. As they looked a bit closer they could see that many of the armours were damaged, most with great gouges, as if from enormous claws. Neihart realised that they were all old marks; mark IV and V mostly.

Captain Mendez looked at the big marine. "You could outfit a company from here. Is that your intention, Morgan Sedreth? Some attempt to redeem your honour?"

Sedreth looked steadily back at him. "That's not why you're here." He walked to the far right wall where a huge plain workcloth covered something long, flat and rectangular. He pulled off the covering to reveal a massive plaque, five metres high and twice that across. An aquila was etched into the top of it and below the Emperor's sigil were four numerals and four other sigils. Neihart recognised them from Sedreth's earlier description.

Emperor's Children.

World Eaters.

Luna Wolves.

Death Guard.

Beneath each sigil were long long lists of names. Sedreth looked back at them.

"We found the drop lists. These are the Betrayed. The loyal astartes who were virus-bombed from orbit by their own commanders on Isstvan III."

Joshua's voice was soft. "How many?"

"Three thousand, one hundred and seven. So far. I am barely begun. More than thirty-seven thousand marines dropped. Nine thousand, more or less, from each legion." His gaze was hard. "When you next pray for the Fallen of your chapter, add one for these men." He touched a name, near the top of the great gold sheet. "And especially give thanks for this man. Saul Tarvitz, First Captain of the Emperor's Children. He wasn't part of the drop, but found out about the betrayal, and took a Thunderhawk down to give warning. Horus had expected a massacre. He got a war. Tarvitz got much of the drop force to shelter, then took command. They held out against four Legions for more than a month, until finally Horus wiped out the last handful from orbit. The campaign cost him about sixty thousand marines, over and above the warriors who had fought him."

Neihart swore quietly. "That was well done."

Sedreth said nothing, looking up at the long lists of names. Mendez looked at him, then at his brothers and the three of them quietly left the room, leaving the man alone with his memories.

* * *

"Mr Morgan's not really angry at you," said the girl as they finished laying out the dead in the ship's chapel.

Joshua looked at her and raised a questioning eyebrow.

"He's angry at himself. Most of his century dropped on Isstvan III; he was far away, with his Primarch, who was trying to get the Iron Hands to join the rebels. They had to fight their way out after Ferrus Mannus refused. An' after the Drop-site Massacre, well, I think he wishes he'd chosen differently instead of following the Primarch and the Warmaster."

"Do you think it matters, child?"

She nodded seriously. "Of course. That's why the Emperor tol' him he still had something to do."

Neihart straightened slowly. "The Emperor told him?"

The little face grinned back. "Uh-huh. At Macragge. That's why the Ultramarines let us go, I think."

Mendez looked at her with a strange expression. "At Macragge."

She tilted her head, looking up at the captain. "All the Ultramarines heard it. And the shrines all shone."

"You are talking about the Miracle." It wasn't a question, but she smiled an affirmative.

"Yes."

"You heard it all?"

"We both heard it all," said Sara Tarken quietly. "And felt it. The Emperor's presence is, …, there are no words." She put out her hand to her daughter. "Come on, Janey. Let the Grey Knights tend their brothers in privacy. We can come back later for a formal memorial service."

The two walked out quietly leaving the Terminators looking at each other in confusion.

"Brother-captain, do you think they truly heard the words of the Emperor?" The three Terminators stood in the long aisle of memorial columns, their prayers for their dead brothers completed.

"What do you think, Joshua?"

"I think that if they are liars, they are very convincing liars. This place," he gestured at the gleaming marble and the battle flags, "this ship, their actions. The man seeks redemption; the woman, truth and purpose. The child's veneration of Him is not the faith of the Imperial cult. It is almost, ... personal. As if she truly believes the Emperor watches her actions and takes an interest and a hand in them."

"The reported words of the 'Miracle' were '_My beloved son Robouté will restored be to me. And the Child's prayer shall be answered._' You think she is the Child in question?"

Joshua looked at his sergeant thoughtfully. "I do not know. I had not considered it. But it is conceivable. How else could a girl-child act as this one does? She is what, eight or nine standard years? Yet she controls the ship's communications, weapons and tactical scans as if she has spent a lifetime doing it. Perhaps the Emperor guides her."

"Or perhaps she is a servant of chaos, and guided by the ruinous powers?"

Joshua nodded. "It is likewise possible; more likely perhaps. Yet I am troubled by the thought."

Neihart nodded slowly. "I too. Brother-captain, do you believe they are servants of chaos?"

Mendez looked at his brothers and slowly shook his head. "Everything is consistent with them being loyal servants of the Emperor. But."

"Aye," said Neihart heavily. "But. This place. That portrait." Three pairs of eyes moved as one to the great mural of the Primarch Fulgrim. The imperial aquila on the warrior's chest gleamed gold as if to demand their doubts.

"The child in particular showed sadness when she looked at it. Pity, even."

"Indeed. A worrying concept."

"You think she will be led astray by that empathy?"

"It is possible. You both know that the Ordo Malleus theorises that many of the original heretics were led to chaos by their devotion to their Primarchs. One small step at a time, until they were lost to anything bar the evil of chaos."

They both nodded grimly. "Then what do you suggest, brother-captain? What action should we take?"

"For the present, we shall observe, until we return to our own ship. If they continue to act as they have so far, we shall merely report that this vessel bears watching. If they do not, then we shall take whatever other action is appropriate."

Neihart nodded. "Then, brother-captain, I shall offer my prayers to the Emperor that he guide these three and keep them from calling down upon themselves that action."

Mendez smiled.


	15. Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen

a/n: this was originally written as part two, and starts approx two years after chapter thirteen. In order to make the story one site entry, I have simply continued as chapter 14 (which would be the Death Guard, if they hadn't turned traitor). This was inspired by one of the finest board games ever; I hope you like my little tribute to Space Hulk.

* * *

Sara sat quietly on the well-padded sofa, a large mug of hot coffee (genuine, Terran) in front of her. It was mid-morning, ship-time, and she wasn't due on watch for another forty minutes. Sedreth and Janey were on the bridge, split-shift. It was Sedreth she'd be relieving, then she and Janey would be on watch for two hours before Janey went to do her exercises under Morgan's expert eye. Her own exercises had been earlier in the day; she – and Morgan – no longer had any worries about leaving her ten-year-old daughter alone on the command deck. Although she did still insist that the little girl got a solid eight hours every night. However fit and competent she might be in other ways, Janey was still a child.

Sara had to admit to herself that she worried constantly over her daughter. A little girl shouldn't be so involved with soldiering and killing. That Janey had killed was something she tried not to think about if she could. It wasn't an easy thing for a mother. She still saw the faces of her own victims at night, sometimes.

More often, though, she saw the faces of the innocent dead, the children killed by cultists on Astinal IV, the colonists swarmed under by orks on Gair Amen, the thousands of dead after the Inquisition put East Plotsberg to the question. She and Morgan had wiped out the Inquisition team responsible, teleported aboard their ship and killed everyone aboard. She smiled grimly at the memory of the Inquisitor's face when she'd gutted him with his own knife, and grimaced at the memory of what the ship's cells had contained. It was worse, somehow, when the perpetrators tried to claim they were doing such things for the good of humanity. She failed to understand how torturing people to death was for anyone's good; it always struck her as something the chaos Gods would appreciate.

She sipped her coffee, aware of her distraction. Abruptly she stood, mug half-finished, and walked the short distance to the chapel. The gleaming corridors were quiet, as always, just the faint hum of the ship's systems disturbing the silence. The double doors were open; they left them that way, a welcome for any of them.

There was another chapel on the ship now, not far from the stern cargo bays. A more traditional Imperial chapel, which they'd furnished to provide somewhere for their occasional passengers – refugees from destroyed colony worlds, or very occasionally from Imperial stupidity – to worship the Emperor as they were used to.

None of the three of them used it, the great remembrance hall of the Legion instead the focus of their own meditation and occasional prayer. Sara and Janey had both admitted that they felt more comfortable there, amongst the long lists of names. Morgan had long since finished the great memorial plaque to the Betrayed; it took up most of the right-hand wall beside the polished pews. Apart from themselves, no-one had seen it, which was a pity. Those loyal astartes, who had fought so hard against overwhelming odds, deserved to be remembered. She looked up at the gleaming gold, touching the name of brother-sergeant Ivanovic, as she often did. How had he felt when he realised his worst fears were true? That he and his brothers were betrayed? She hoped he would not mind her wearing the same colours as he had done.

She turned and moved to the newest of the plaques; '_Plett IV, brother-astartes Gabriel, brother-astares Mallory, 1__st__ Company, 666__th__ Chapter Astartes_' and the date. Mendez, Neihart and Joshua had been surprised and, she thought, gratified that their brothers' names would be commemorated here. The codex sigil of the Grey Knights had been carefully painted onto the wall of the little alcove; all three of them had done at least some of it, with Janey standing on a platform to reach. It was strange to do such a thing by hand rather than have a 'bot or a servitor do it, but it had felt right.

Her comm beeped and she glanced instinctively at the chronometer. "Morgan?" The collision alert sounded and she ran for the bridge without bothering to wait for a reply.

"Sara, emergency station to the bridge, please." Sedreth's voice was its usual calm despite the emergency message. "We're picking up some sort of mass."

Even as she ran she asked the obvious. "We're in the warp. What the hell is it?"

"Unconfirmed but it's massive. It's pulling us toward itself."

"Drop us out of warp, Morgan. Emergency shift." She flung herself into the lift. "I'm secure. Do it now!" She slammed the emergency override and the room rocketed upwards, pressing her down and back against the acceleration.

Janey's voice came over the speakers. "Generators online and building. Solar mass detected. Emergency shift in twenty seconds, mark."

A star. Mass to pull them out of warp. Thank the Emperor. She spoke into the comm. "I want all pilot functions duplicated, Morgan. Full scans online. Shields to max and weapons online. Throne only knows where we're going to come out."

Sedreth's chuckle was reassuring. "Co-pilot station to active. Affirmative, captain. All shields and weapons systems are online. Lances at warm-up."

The doors opened and she ran flat out for the bridge doors. Janey's calm voice sounded over the intercom. "Ten seconds to shift. Field at forty percent and building."

Sara caught the door, using her momentum to swing her towards the pilot's chair. She jerked the emergency belt into place even as she landed in the cushion.

"Five seconds. Field at eighty-five percent."

She glanced at the scans and cursed at how close the thing was; eighty-five was enough. "Shift immediate." And shoved the control, slamming the drives in with full port thrust. Reality bent in a nightmare of twisting images and conflicting accelerations.

* * *

They were alive.

"Systems check."

"All systems show green," came Sedreth's unflappable bass rumble.

"Scan and comms online. Mummy, there something coming through behind us. Something huge."

She glanced at her own display. Sure enough something massive, tens of kilometres across, was shouldering their warpgate open behind them. She punched the main drives, streams of superheated plasma driving them away from the thing at a sizeable fraction of light.

"Range seventy thousand kilometres,"said Janey. "Eighty thousand kilometres. Ninety thousand kilometres. One hunderd thousand kilometres. One hunderd and twenty. One hunderd and fifty."

Sara tuned out her daughter's voice, concentrating instead on the forward scanner readings. A single star showed, thirty AUs ahead of them; its mass had been what Janey had aimed their gate for.

"Unmapped star system. Scan indicates occlusion of solar mass; possible planet. Running spectral analysis for nearest known stars."

"Range two light-seconds. Two point one. Two point two. Two point three. Object is retaining constant velocity and course. Estimated object mass thirteen hundred and eighty million standard tonnes. Scan indicates mass is artificial; multiple materials. No active energy sources. Correction. One, no, two. No. Multiple energy sources, minor. Sending to analysis. Range three point five light seconds."

"What's the object's course?"

"It's hard to tell, mummy. It's moving really slowly, just under a hunderd kilometres a second. It's moving away from us galactic west at an angle of thirty-seven degrees parallel to us, orientation up by one point four degrees. I can't detect any engines or anything. It's like it's just drifting."

Sedreth swore quietly. "Space hulk."

"What?"

"It's a space hulk, Janey. Dozens, perhaps hundreds of ships, maybe a couple of rocks, all smashed together. They drift through the warp, or sometimes realspace, and they have mass enough to drag smaller ships into them, which make them bigger. Any ship that hits one is doomed."

"Why? Can't they pull free?"

"Perhaps, if they're not too damaged they could. But usually space hulks are inhabited."

"Inhabited?"

"Yes. Orks, Chaos warriors. Genestealers. Simply pirates. Pretty much anything you can think of has been found on a space hulk at one time or another. I know of at least one traitor marine warband which is based on a space hulk."

Sara looked across at the marine. "What do you think we should do?"

He paused. "Standard Imperial regulations require that we report it."

Janey looked round as the computer beeped. "Computer analysis indicates one energy source is Imperial in origin, consistent with standard star drive."

Sara nodded firmly. "That settles it. We report it. From a safe distance. I'm pulling us back to half an AU, and we can parallel its course from there."

Both the marine and her daughter gave quiet affirmatives. Sedreth looked over at her. "We may be a while in reporting it; I've no idea where we are, or what the nearest Imperial system is."

She shrugged. "That's as maybe. We have sufficient fire-power and shielding to keep us safe, and fuel and supplies for couple of years if need be. I'm not leaving one of these things to drift along."

He nodded. "Of course, captain."

* * *

It took four days for the nav computers to get enough matches to pinpoint their position and a further day to make contact with the Imperial Naval garrison seven systems (and forty-odd light-years) away. The contact was not helpful. It took several frustrating communications before they finally got to someone who both appreciated the situation and had the authority to do anything about it. However, the rear-admiral in question was unable to give them any firm arrival date; much of the normal garrison had been drafted to deal with a major ork incursion.

_'I'm sorry, captain, but it could be a couple of months before there are sufficient naval vessels available to deal with this menace.'_

And what should she and her crew do in the meantime, she'd asked.

_'I must require you to stay on station and keep watch over the hulk. There have been no life signs in a week; hopefully it will remain the case. I trust you have sufficient emergency supplies for the wait?'_

She'd nodded glumly, well aware, as indeed the admiral was likewise aware, that rogue trader regulations required a minimum of three months' emergency supplies be carried at all times.

So they sat on station, drifting along with shields at nominal and taking four hour watches between bouts of combat exercises both physical and mental. Twenty-two standard days after the Imperial Navy had dumped the boring task on them, they finally got a communication.

"_How_ long?"

"Three standard months, captain. I must apologise, but our forces suffered significant losses. The only available assault ships were both lost and it will be two months before their replacements arrive."

"Admiral, that's a hell of a long time for us to be stuck drifting along. Are there no other forces available?"

"I'm afraid not. The nearest astartes chapters, the Iron Snakes and the Howling Griffons, are still engaged elsewhere. I have passed the situation report on to higher authority, but I have no expectation of hearing anything before my reinforcements are available. Given that the hulk is doing nothing, it is not an immediate priority."

She looked at the man on the vid-display. Then sighed. "Very well, admiral. But I shall expect compensation for this length of stay. I'm not a charity."

"Of course, captain Tarken. The Emperor's protection on you."

"Walk in His light, admiral. Tarken out."

Over the following weeks they slowly orbited the hulk, taking vid images and low-level scans at range, never coming closer than a million kilometres. They had identified seven energy sources, all of them with the sort of signature that indicated automatic power plants at minimum settings. It was more than enough to keep them cautious.

Once a week Sara updated the Navy with brief reports. It wasn't until her seventh such briefing that there was any change. The lieutenant to whom she reported was, for once, smiling.

"Captain Tarken. Good to hear from you again. You'll be pleased to know that the hulk has been affirmed for action by the space marines. An astartes vessel will be despatched shortly."

Sara smiled in relief. "That is good news, lieutenant. We'll be pleased to see them. Have you an eta?"

The woman smiled. "Not yet, but we've had confirmation that the hulk is being prioritised now that the orks have been dealt with. I'll give you an eta when we have it, but I should think, within a couple of weeks at most."

Sara nodded. "That's excellent. Emperor's Grace on you, lieutenant. Transmitting my report now."

"Thank you, captain. May He keep you safe. Avegnis garrison out."

* * *

The expected contact came two days later, while Sara was exercising in the upper practice room under Sedreth's expert eye. She walked through, still in her armour, and looked into the vid pick-up. At a remarkably handsome space marine in crimson armour.

"Brother-captain. This is a pleasant surprise. I am Sara Tarken. How may we assist?"

The man looked back at her appraisingly; if he was surprised by her recognition of his rank he didn't show it. "Captain Tarken, I am brother-captain Esceriel of the third company, astartes Blood Angels. I did not expect to find a woman in power armour."

Sara chuckled softly. "Salvage, brother-captain. We managed to adapt it for my stature, and I find it very useful when I am obliged to explore unknown places. However, that is not why you contacted my ship. Am I to presume the astartes Blood Angels have been tasked with exploring and destroying the hulk?"

He nodded sharply. "That is correct. Lord Commander Dante and five companies of Blood Angels will arrive at your location in two days."

"Two days? That is excellent news, brother-captain. We are both relieved and honoured. Do you wish the latest scan reports to be sent to you now? Naturally we will update with further scans on your actual arrival, but we keep the record tight-linked for burst transmission. A precaution, you understand."

He nodded approvingly. "An intelligent precaution. Yes, if you could have the data transmitted, it will speed our deployment by several hours."

She glanced at Janey, who was already reaching for her console. "Transmitting now, brother-captain. We shall look forward to your arrival. Is there anything else you require from us in the meantime?"

He shook his head. "Apart from keeping your distance as you have done heretofore and continuing your current scans, no, captain. The Emperor protects."

"In His Glorious Name, brother-captain. Tarken out."

She closed the contact and looked at her companions. Janey had a huge smile on her face. Sedreth inclined his head. "Captain, I suggest we ready bolters and heavy weapons. It is unlikely we will be asked to assist in the boarding, but it may be helpful to be prepared."

She nodded. "Yes, do that. And Janey, run a weapons diagnostic, and ensure our transmission protocols are up to date. We want to give a good first impression."

"Yes, mummy."

Dante, Lord Commander of the astartes Blood Angels and one of the most feared warriors in a galaxy at endless war, looked up as his third company commander walked into the prep room and saluted. He waved the man to a seat beside the other company commanders.

"You contacted this rogue trader captain, Esceriel?"

The dark-haired marine nodded. "Yes. It was not what I expected."

"Oh?"

"Indeed. Oh. For one thing, the comms was answered by a girl-child, perhaps ten years; certainly pre-adolescent. She called herself Janey, and said her mother was the captain and busy at her exercises When the captain, one Tarken, appeared she was wearing power armour."

Dante's grizzled eyebrows rose. "Was she indeed? Any particular colours or iconography?"

"Purple with gold trim. Not the renegade Soul Drinkers though; different pattern, and the device on her shoulder looked like a wing, similar to the Dark Angels Ravenwing, rather than a chalice, though also in gold. And she was wearing a Black Templars purity seal on the front corner of her left shoulder-plate."

"Hmm. Not anything that I'm familiar with off-hand, but I'm sure we can find out if it's a recognised device. Anything else?"

"Yes. They were prepared with a burst transmission of scan reports. Initial analysis indicates astartes protocols."

The Lord Commander tilted his head thoughtfully. "Very interesting. I rather think we should know more about this Captain Tarken."

Esceriel inclined his head in assent. "I took the liberty of having a hardcopy of her license and vessel registration printed. Along with her ports of call over the last ten years."

Dante smiled. Esceriel was one of his more intelligent captains. Which, it had to be admitted, was a considerable compliment. Sandros, the assault company captain, chuckled, amusement twisting his scarred face around the artificial eye that replaced his right socket.

"Well, brother, don't keep us all in suspense. What does it tell us?"

Esceriel grinned back at the close combat specialist. "It's very interesting. She doesn't appear to have made any calls at all until she appears at Macragge four years ago. Her license bears the seal of Lord Commander Calgar; the personal seal. Her ship is something of a mystery, too; very old and confirmed as salvage in her name by Lord Calgar's authority. Although I haven't looked it up, it's clearly a former warship – the class code is epsilon-76. It's reported as having taken part in a minor naval action in the Plett system nearly three years ago, at the command of brother-captain Mendez of the Grey Knights. Since then it has traded at various systems and on three occasions assisted in the evacuation of Imperial citizens under threat."

The other marines looked at each other. "Not the normal trader captain, then. Could she be an agent of the Ultramarines?" asked Mephiston, the Chief Librarian.

"That is the logical deduction, brother librarian," said Dante.

"That's useful," said captain Matthias of the first company, his Terminator armour, which he was wearing for diagnosis after a recent repair, making him bulk even more than the others.

"Indeed." Dante pressed the comm stud. "Brother Asiel, can you look up ship class epsilon-76 please and send its schematic to the prep room displays?"

"By your command, Lord Commander," came the techmarine's prompt reply. A few seconds later the displays lit with schematics and a holographic image appeared above the ten-metre-long table.

Sandros whistled softly. "That is not exactly a normal trade ship."

Asiel barely moved his head in acknowledgement. "Raptor-class strike destroyer. The Chapter had several once upon a time. They were the standard company ship until superseded by strike cruisers ninety centuries ago. According to this they were still used by the Imperial navy until the thirty-third millennium, and the Raven Guard retain one in service to this day. When was this Tarken's ship commissioned, brother?"

Esceriel glanced at the printout. "29th millennium, brother." He read the details again and blinked. "As an astartes ship. Although I have never seen the notation gamma in regard to an astartes chapter before."

"Legion, brother. It would be a Legion back then. Each Legion had its own letter, which we retain."

"Which Legion is gamma?"

Dante felt his blood run cold as he recited the ancient alphabet. "Alpha, beta, gamma, delta, epsilon, nu,.." His voice trailed off.

"The Third Legion. The Emperor's Children," said Mephiston quietly.

There was stark silence.

* * *

"Mummy, incoming warp exit bearing sixteen-delta mark four. There's something coming through. Something big."

Sara spoke into the comm from the armoury where she was assisting Sedreth into his own battle armour. "Alright, Janey. We'll be up in a minute or so. Can you patch it through to our display, please?"

"Yes, mummy." The wall display came to life with the ship's scan. The huge red blob that was the hulk was just over sixty million klicks - about half an AU - from their position, slightly astern and to starboard. The opening warp gate was ahead and also on the starboard side, about six AUs away. The display split, showing the vid image, light-lagged as it was, a purple tear in reality surrounded by rainbow-hued lightnings of energy. A golden vessel slid through the opening, ploughshare-bowed and massive. Scan gave its mass as more than sixty million tonnes; three times their own, at least. Sedreth gave a grim smile.

"A battle barge. There could be five or six companies on it. Probably will be."

"Just that ship on its own?"

"A battle barge doesn't need an escort. It's close to a fleet in its own right. Our full broadside at point blank probably wouldn't even dent the shields."

"Oh. We better get up to the bridge, then."

He nodded, running through the standard power-up diagnostics. "All green. Let's go."

They arrived on the bridge to find Janey fairly bouncing with excitement.

"Mummy. It's really them, the Blood Angels. Do you think they'll like our picture?"

Sara smiled. "I expect so. But I think that we shouldn't distract them yet. The most important thing is the hulk."

Sedreth chuckled at the slightly crestfallen look on the small face. "Either way we better open a hail." He clipped a bolter to the overhead above the pilot's chair, and a bolt pistol beside Janey's console, in easy reach. Strolling over and taking his own chair he clipped a spare bolter to its ready position to his left. Janey looked at him and he smiled slightly. "In case. Throne only knows what's on that thing, and the Blood Angels will almost certainly board and may disturb something unpleasant."

Janey nodded and flicked switches. "Mummy, comm to your one."

Sara spoke into her headset mike. "This is trader captain Sara Tarken aboard _Eyes of the Phoenix_ to the astartes Blood Angels. By the Grace of the Emperor, we are honoured to greet you."

There was a pause of a few seconds, then the vid came up to reveal a grim-faced man with lined, hard, features and close-cropped grey hair. His armour shone gold beneath a blood-red cloak.

"Captain Tarken, I am Lord Commander Dante of the Blood Angels aboard the _Eternal Wrath_. We are here to deal with the hulk _Heresy of Corruption _in the Emperor's name. You will consider your ship and crew to be under my command for the duration of the operation."

"Of course, Lord Commander. We will provide any assistance we can. We have been observing the hulk for more than two standard months; our scan data was transmitted to you. We have additional scan data accumulated since that transmission ready to send."

The other nodded. "Do that, captain. Remain in your current position in regard to the hulk. We shall contact you shortly with further instructions."

"By your command, Lord Commander."

"_Eternal Wrath_ out." The connection went dead.

Sedreth looked at them both. "Dante himself. The Navy might not have taken the hulk very seriously; the Blood Angels certainly are."

"He looks very marine-y. Sort of solid and grim." Janey smiled. "Not like you, Mr Morgan. You're much nicer."

Despite himself, Sedreth returned the smile. "He doesn't know you like I do. You had better transmit that scan data."

She nodded and turned back to her controls, speaking quietly into the headset.

"How long before they're in position?"

Sedreth glanced at the scan. "At their current course and speed, I'd say several hours. They'll be using the time to plan an initial deployment and identify target areas on the hulk. I suggest we get something from the galley; we'd better stay on the bridge in case we're contacted."

"Lockable trays and cups, then?"

He nodded. "You two stay on station; I'll organise the food. Soup and sandwiches; enough to keep us going for a while. This is likely to be a long day."

Janey turned in her seat. "What about our exercises?"

"We probably won't have time for a full workout today. It depends on the instructions we get from the Blood Angels." She looked disappointed and he went on, "But you'll also be too busy for lessons," which got a smile. He stood and walked to the small galley along the corridor.

Mephiston walked into the briefing room and smiled at his commander, hiding his own tension by long long experience. "What did you think of her?"

"Interesting. Did you get any psychic impression?"

He replied thoughtfully. "No taint if that's what you mean. Not that that means a great deal given the distance. Those were definitely pre-Heresy codex colours for the Emperor's Children though. I checked the archives."

"Do you think she knows?"

He nodded. "No question, Esceriel. She knows and she does not consider it wrong. That came across clearly. As did some other important things."

"Go on."

The Librarian ticked off his points on one hand. "First, she was wearing a psi-shield. Second, that purity seal is real. That meant I could only get a few impressions rather than really touch her mind. One of those was a child, probably the girl you spoke to, Esceriel. A second was a tall man in golden armour; I believe it was, or she believes it to be, the Emperor Himself – and she believes in Him, by the way. I have rarely felt such solid faith. The third impression I got was a long corridor with alcoves and banners and a picture. A picture of the Angel."

Matthias looked at him. "The Angel? Are you serious?"

"It's not uncommon for citizens to think of the Angel when they come into contact with us. He is, after all, the greatest hero of the Imperium bar the Emperor Himself, and every church holds his picture. This was different, however. The image was not the stylised saint of a typical church; it was a combat picture. And, brothers, it called to me. It still calls to me; I can see it in my mind even now."

Dante spoke quietly; it was rare indeed to see the Librarian so shaken. "Describe it."

"The Primarch is dropping into battle, his wings cupped for landing. In his right hand he holds his sword, in his left a mighty pistol. Before him were massive insectoid creatures, rearing to strike. Behind him were astartes. Astartes in three different liveries. Ours, pearl white, and purple and gold. They were engaging more of the same creatures. I saw battle banners of the Blood Angels, and of the Emperor's Children and one I did not then recognise; white, with a black canine head on a gold crescent." He looked round at them all. "I looked at that one in the archives also. It was the banner of the XVI Legion. The Luna Wolves."

Dante nodded slowly. "Did you get an impression of what it showed?"

Mephiston nodded slowly, almost reluctantly. "Three numbers. One-forty-twenty."

"Murder," said brother-chaplain Anathael.

"Just so, brother."

Sandros spoke quietly. "You think she has such a picture on her ship."

"Yes. Yes I do."

Dante pursed his lips then shrugged. "Whatever, it is a question for another time. We must plan to enter the hulk, investigate it, and destroy whatever xenos peril it may hold. That is our mission. For the moment the hulk appears quiet, with just those few almost inactive power sources. Can you have your Librarians run a psi-scan?"

"Yes, Lord Commander. Once we get closer. What does the accumulated scan data show?"

"What might be expected from scans on minimal power. Our captain Tarken is no fool; she took careful precautions against waking anything."

Matthias shrugged. "And our own scans?"

"Incomplete at this time. But we are almost in range to run a deep scan on the thing. If there is anything on it, we shall find it."

* * *

Janey took another sip of her chocco, in the bright blue and orange mug Mr Morgan had given her for her birthday. The Blood Angels! She remembered all the tales they'd told in church when she was little, tales she hadn't thought about in a long time, what with living with Mr Morgan, meeting the Black Templars and the Grey Knights and even the legendary Ultramarines. The Blood Angels were supposed to be the fiercest warriors in the Imperium and the most beautiful. And they'd never been beaten, not even when the Angel was killed by Horus. She wondered if she'd be able to talk with any of them. Maybe show them her daddy's plaque. She looked at the scan; another couple of hours before the battle-barge would be in position to use its own scans properly.

"Lord Commander, we are picking up life signs from the hulk."

"Why have these not been picked up before?"

"They are deep inside, Lord Commander, protected by many layers of material. We only picked them up by running full-power deep scans. And even then they are barely extant."

"Hmm. Very well. Can you tell what kind of life signs?"

"Yes, Lord Commander." He hesitated.

Dante raised a questioning eyebrow. The naval crewman flushed. "Genestealers, Lord."

Dante nodded. "I see. Continue the scans. I want as much information on that thing's interior layout as possible. Details to be piped in to the main tactical briefing room. And have the captain and senior officers attend a briefing there in one hour." He turned and walked to the main briefing room where his company captains waited. Genestealers. He cursed under his breath. That meant heavy casualties if they boarded. And they had to board.

"Lord Commander, why can we not simply vaporise the hulk?"

"Several reasons, the most pertinent of which is that its sheer mass means we have insufficient fire-power. The only way to destroy it is to plant devices deep inboard and blow it up from the inside. Our scan-techs are working on identifying vulnerable points as it stands."

"Have we any estimate on how many genestealers there might be aboard?" asked Matthias.

"Not really. Based on past experience, perhaps twenty or thirty thousand would be an upper limit. Far too many to engage, anyway."

"Is there anything of interest on the hulk?" asked Esceriel.

"Unfortunately, yes. There is an unrecognised power source here." Dante pointed to a glowing dot on the schematic. "We will need to have techmarines investigate it. In addition the power source here is an Imperial one, typical of a military power plant. It too must be investigated, if only to confirm which ship it once belonged to."

"Then we had best decide how best to deploy," said Matthias. "We will be using toxins against the xenos, as we did on the _Sin of Damnation_?" The first company captain had been a sergeant during that famously vengeful victory, just over a century before.

"Indeed. If we can infiltrate an appropriate toxin into the ventilation systems we should be able to kill nine-tenths of them before they wake."

The captains nodded and started making suggestions. The tactical discussion went on for several hours.

* * *

"Mummy, why have the Blood Angels not contacted us?"

"I don't know, darling. They must be deciding what they're going to do."

Sedreth swung round from his console. "Almost certainly, Sara. They have detected genestealers aboard the hulk, and even for the astartes, those are a serious threat. Most will no doubt be dormant, but even a single genestealer is more than a match for a marine in power armour if it can get close. The Lord Commander and his captains will be trying to ensure they can destroy the genestealers in hibernation without disturbing the whole hive."

"How many of them might be in a hive?"

"Ten thousand or more. Enough to wipe out three or four chapters of space marines."

Both of the others were silent at that. Then Janey spoke quietly. "Have you fought them before, Mr Morgan?"

He nodded. "Yes. We raided a colony not knowing it had been taken by 'stealers. We lost a lot of warriors that day. If it had not been for the effect of the noise marines' sonic weapons we would have lost a lot more." He gave a sudden chuckle. "It was quite enjoyable watching the World Eater bezerkers being annihilated though. Chainaxes are no match for 'stealer claws."

Janey gave him a scowl and he tried without success to look innocent in response, then gave a rueful smile. "Alright, Janey. I admit it. I never really liked the World Eaters. Not even before the Rebellion."

She gave a slight smile. "I s'pose that's okay. They're not very nice."

"You'll like the Blood Angels though. No give in them."

The comm beeped and Janey turned to answer.

"_Eyes of the Phoenix_. Comm officer speaking."

A marine captain with an artificial eye in a scarred face looked out of the vid. "I am brother-captain Sandros, _Eyes of the Phoenix_. Stand by for transmission of your orders on standard channel three."

Janey nodded. "Standing by, brother-captain."

Sandros nodded to someone off camera. A light flashed on Janey's console. She touched her controls and a series of instructions scrolled upon the main display. "Orders received, brother-captain."

He nodded. "Sandros out." The transmission cut off.

Sara smiled at her daughter. "They're a bit abrupt, aren't they?"

Janey smiled back a little sadly."Maybe they'll be nicer when we've finished?"

"Probably. Now, let's see what they want us to do."

"Well, captain?"

Butrios Ghallius, captain of the Blood Angels' battle-barge _Eternal Wrath_, looked round at the Lord Commander of the astartes chapter he'd served for forty years. "Lord Commander. The hulk remains quiescent. The _Eyes of the Phoenix_ is in position as ordered. All weapons systems are online and targeted at the designated locations. We can launch the assault on your command."

Lord Commander Dante nodded approvingly. Ghallius, one of the very very few non-astartes to have the Lord Commander's respect, had as usual done an excellent job. "Excellent. I shall give the orders for the pre-battle service to commence."


	16. Chapter Fifteen

**Chapter Fifteen**

Janey looked up at the great portrait, and bowed her head. "Lord Sanguinius, Mr Morgan says you were the best tactician he ever saw. Please look after your Blood Angels today and keep them safe. Lead those brave warriors who fall into your father's light, to dwell secure for all time. Amen."

She lifted her head and smiled. The Blood Angels had the Legion with them today. Even if the Legion was just Mr Morgan. She touched the portrait gently, turned and walked back to the bridge.

On _Eternal Wrath_ the chaplains were intoning the litanies of hatred. As was normal with the Blood Angels, they were watchful for a slightly glazed look in their brothers' eyes. If a marine had that look he would be close to falling to the Black Rage, reliving the death of the Primarch as he flung himself into battle uncaring of life or injury, connected by some mystical thread to his genefather and partaking of the Angel's strength. Such warriors were almost unstoppable, and were gathered into the Death Company, to be loosed on the enemy where their augmented fury would be most useful. It was an honourable death, and better than any other option, for such warriors were otherwise a danger to all around them, insane and lethal.

Chaplain Caliel helped the kneeling form of brother-sergeant Astinius to his feet, seeing the onset of the Rage as a living thing in the man's eyes. A great pity; Astinius had long been looked on as a potential captain.

"Come, brother. Let us attend you."

Astinius gave him a glazed look, mumbling to himself. Then he stopped dead and raised his head. He looked, eyes clear and focussed, at Caliel, and laughed, a sane and joyful sound. "Brother chaplain, I do not need your assistance. Do you not feel it? The Angel is with us this day." He laughed again and bellowed across the dock.

"Blood Angels. What is your duty?"

The answer roared back from five hundred voices. "Service to the Emperor's will."

"What is the Emperor's will?"

"That we fight and die."

"What is death?"

"Death is our duty."

High above, Lord Commander Dante looked at his Chief Librarian, who had an almost gentle smile on his face. "Mephiston?"

"Astinius is right. The Primarch is with us today. I can feel him."

Dante nodded. "I thought it was just me." He leant on the railing and roared the question again. "Blood Angels. What is your duty?"

The answer woke the echoes across the ship. Space marines had tears in their eyes and almost joyful expressions. A wave of Dante's hand swept a tide of crimson-armoured warriors to their positions in the boarding torpedoes. There was a loud, impossibly ominous, click as five hundred bolters were cocked almost together, then silence. It was time.

Sedreth watched as the torpedoes streaked from the sides of the golden battle-barge. He nodded to himself as the Blood Angels deployed, eliminating any escape pods and setting a perimeter for the remaining companies to deploy to. Small detachments of First Company Terminators moved to secure specific points, wiping out any resistance efficiently and speedily. Very professional.

One large group moved quickly towards a nearby power source, an unidentified source of energy and set up a perimeter to guard it. His tacscan showed techmarines moving around beside it.

Sara came over and looked past his shoulder. "Sedreth, can we help do you think? Our scans are military-grade too. We could add our scans to theirs, cover a wider area."

He looked round at her, and thought for a few moments. "It can be done, but it requires a priority link to ensure real-time communication. Even a delay of a couple of seconds can be tactically fatal."

Sara smiled briefly. "I trust our scan tech, don't you?"

He looked across to Janey's eager face and smiled. "Yes, I rather think I do. Sara, you had better do the talking."

She grinned and walked back to her command chair.

* * *

"Lord Commander, I have received a communication from _Eyes of the Phoenix_. They suggest marrying their scans to ours to extend our scan coverage."

Dante thought for a second. Could they be trusted? Well, if they could not, they'd be very dead. And if they could succeed in doing it it would be tactically very valuable. "Captain Ghallius, If you can synchronise it, do so. If there is lag between their scan readings and ours it is worse than useless."

"Yes, Lord Commander."

Matthias watched the scan closely. He had lost seven of his Terminators so far, fewer than expected but each a grievous loss to the Imperium and the Chapter nonetheless. Lord Dante's voice came over the vox.

"Matthias, we're about to extend the scan area using _Eyes of the Phoenix_'s scan systems. Captain Ghallius assures me they are compatible, and that there should be no appreciable lag between theirs and ours. If there are any problems at all, I want to know immediately. The extended area will cover quadrant tertius, marches three through seven."

His right-hand perimeter, where their scan had difficulty penetrating due to the denseness of the material – some crushed xenos ship – there. "Yes, Lord Commander. That will be most helpful."

The image extended, slowly at first, then more. Matthias swore.

"Squad Serros, 'stealers massing in your vicinity, multiple signals bearing nu mark seven, marches four and five. Pull back to the cross-junction at nu sigma six."

Sergeant Serros' voice came back. "Acknowledged, brother-captain. Pulling back now."

Matthias moved squads Thitius and Borrel to support positions and watched with satisfaction as the 'stealer attack was annihilated.

"Squad Serros, here, brother-captain. One down, two wounded."

Matthias grimaced. Even the victories were hard-won against these accursed things. He replied tersely. "Acknowledged. Good job, brother-sergeant. Uplink to tacscan confirmed effective. I'm patching through our extended scan data to all units. Squads Thitius and Borrel will support your advance. An apothecary is en route to brother Elias."

Esceriel watched his brothers deploy with quiet satisfaction. So far, so good. He was just turning to leave the bridge when there was a loud bang and a console exploded in fire. Crewmen rushed to extinguish the brief flames. Beside him, brother-techmarine Simbalist swore. Esceriel looked enquiringly at the normally unflappable marine.

"The primary teleport control panel, brother-captain."

Esceriel met the man's worried gaze. "In simple Gothic?"

"We can still teleport large objects, but there is no longer any fine focus. 'Porting individual marines will not be possible until it is repaired."

"How long?"

"Several hours at least, brother-captain."

"You had better tell the Lord Commander." He gave a brief grin as he went to join his company for deployment to the hulk.

* * *

Four hours in and the Blood Angels had established a firm perimeter extending deep into the hulk. Genestealer attacks were increasing in frequency, but so far had not been made in huge numbers. Sedreth watched the tacscan feed with his companions as three squads of Terminators moved towards a nexus of stairwells and passages. An excellent, if risky, tactical move which would prevent 'stealer access through that dangerous section and secure communications with advance elements. If the 'stealers were organised they would move swiftly against that; Dante was clearly taking the chance that they were not yet awake in sufficient numbers to prevent the setting up of a choke point there. If he was right, his perimeter in that section would be close to impregnable except in massive numbers. If he was wrong, he was about to lose three squads, or be forced to teleport them out, which would weaken his forces significantly for a short time.

Sara spoke quietly. "That looks quite exposed."

He nodded, pleased that she'd noticed. "It is. But if they have time to establish a strong defence then Lord Commander Dante can reinforce with the third company from here and his perimeter will be very strong indeed."

Janey asked him, "What if the 'stealers attack before they're in position?"

"They'll have to teleport out, probably. It depends on the 'stealer forces and their position; they may be able to hold long enough for reinforcements to arrive if this corridor here and that one there are secure. And their ammunition holds out."

They watched the cautious advance. The Terminators started to split up, taking defensive positions. "Mr Morgan, look!" Janey was pointing to a different section of the scan, where genestealers were moving in large numbers. "The 'stealers have broken through the wall there."

Sedreth cursed. "There's an access; small, but they don't need much space. They're going to cut those squads off."

* * *

Dante cursed fluently as he realised he'd been suckered. Worse, he could not 'port the squads out with the controls damaged. "Esceriel, the squads at nexus three are about to be cut off. Have you the forces to get to them?"

Esceriel's quiet voice came back. "Not according to the codex, Lord Commander. A company against that number of 'stealers should take a defensive position and wear them down."

Dante waited and as expected Esceriel went on with suppressed humour in his tone. "However, the codex was written by Lord Guilleman and is the battle doctrine of the Ultramarines. We are the Blood Angels. Company will commence assault in two minutes."

"I shall ensure reinforcements are moved into your current positions, brother-captain."

"Damn," said Sedreth. "It was a trap. The 'stealers are alert all right. Fifteen Terminators is a huge loss."

"Why don't they 'port out?"

"I don't know."

Janey ran to her console. "Mr Morgan, I can't get a lock. There's too much interference. I'd need something to boost the signals." She fiddled frantically with controls, almost crying with frustration.

Sedreth turned and ran for the armoury.

* * *

Brother-sergeant Quinn swore as the tactical readouts showed green blobs all round the squads. "Quinn, here. Status report."

"Squad Laertes, two effectives, three dead. We have fired the corridor, but have only two heavy flamer shots left."

"Squad Falco, four effectives, one seriously wounded and immobile. Xenos attack repelled for the moment, but scan indicates massing for another. We must pull back as we're about to be flanked, brother-sergeant."

"Do that. Fire the corridor ahead of you to give you time to pull out."

"By your command."

The thunder of stormbolters echoed down the corridor to his right where two of his squad had good views. The high screeches of dying and injured xenos gave him a small satisfaction, but he knew it was only a matter of time. Not even eleven Terminators could hold out against the masses on scan for very long. He watched as brother Mercier opened up with his assault cannon, tearing a dozen or so 'stealers into bloody shrapnel. Without the heavy weapons they wouldn't last ten minutes.

"How's your ammunition, brother?"

"Not yet down to half, brother-sergeant. I can hold this corridor without difficulty."

"Do that, brother." He turned as Falco lumbered into view, his massive Thunder Hammer stained with xenos blood and gore. The assault Terminator did not look happy.

"Brother Linaeus is with the Primarch. He refused to let us carry him."

Quinn nodded grimly. Ten Terminators then. Linaeus had been a fine warrior. "We shall avenge him, brother."

Falco nodded. "I suggest that I and my squad take positions in the corridors. Let the 'stealers bunch up behind each other as we hold them up, then the flamers can be fired past us."

Quinn shook his head. "You'll all be caught in the fires. We need your firepower. You do still remember how to use a stormbolter?"

Falco grinned. "Better than you, old friend. So how do we deploy?"

"The third company are attempting to break through to us. But they'll have to break down a few walls so that their accumulated fire can bear, otherwise they'll be massacred at close quarters. That will take time. We have to hold our position for as long as we can."

"Esceriel is a brave man."

"He is a Blood Angel."

The two sergeants grinned at each other.

* * *

Dante watched as the icons blinked out one by one, swarmed under by xenos. Just seven left now. Esceriel was blasting his way through walls and xenos alike, but it was taking too long. He cursed under his breath. Perhaps he should write off the cut-off squads. But he couldn't do that. No matter what the tactical situation, it was not in him to call off Esceriel's assault until there was no hope at all. He blinked in astonishment as another icon, the standard for unknown astartes, appeared on the scan. What?

* * *

Quinn swore as he heard brother Mercier's assault cannon click empty. He spun towards the marine, knowing that Mercier was as good as dead; a power fist was no match for multiple 'stealers. Light flared to his right and a voice bellowed, "Fire in the hole!"

Mercier instinctively flung himself sideways as burning promethium erupted past him, crisping the half dozen xenos that he had expected to be his last sight. A space marine, resplendently armoured in purple and gold and draped in weapons, stepped past him and sent another gout of flame along the corridor before reaching out a hand and hauling him to his feet.

The man's voice was amused. "You seem to have upset them." He shrugged free the massive, familiar, form of a heavy bolter from his back. "Sorry, but I didn't have any Terminator heavy weapons available. I hope this will do instead."

Mercier checked the ammunition counter, then grinned inside his helmet. "I think I can manage."

The marine turned to brother-sergeant Quinn and saluted. "I'm Sedreth, brother-sergeant, of the 79th. Sorry, but we couldn't get a lock to 'port you out to _Eyes of the Phoenix_, so I came instead." He unslung a second flamer, elegantly decorated in gold and bronze from his hip. "I trust one of your Terminators can make good use of this?"

Quinn's answering smile was wolfish. "I believe I can find someone."

The stranger grinned wickedly and put his helmet on.

Laertes' voice rang over the vox. "Here they come." The thunder of weapons echoed along the corridors as genestealers poured along them from all angles.

* * *

Dante watched, thankful and amazed and angry all at the same time as the 'stealers swarmed round and along corridors at his cut-off Terminators. Brother-sergeant Laertes' icon winked out, then brother Eliadus'. The unknown marine was apparently kneeling in the corridor beneath Quinn, and the genestealers were only inching closer, taking massive casualties from the combined fire of multiple weapons. Good. Esceriel had blasted down another wall and his company was engaging dozens of the monsters only a hundred metres from the Terminators. They might just make it.

He cursed as the icons of Quinn and the stranger came into contact with the xenos.

* * *

Sedreth drove the butt of his empty bolter through a stealer face, kicking the thing aside as he drew his chainsword. "For the Emperor!" He severed a neck, drawing his bolt pistol one-handed and shooting another in the face. Beside him the stormbolter still roared defiance and a powersword glowed with blue energies as it slashed past his shoulder. Everything seemed to slow down, as it always did when he was at his best; his chainsword severed limbs and heads as he spun and slew, a machine of destruction.

Falco watched, almost in awe, as the stranger marine engaged the onrushing 'stealers head on with chainsword and bolt pistol. What a swordsman! He wondered where the man had come from, then dismissed the thought. There would be time, later. If they lived. The tearing of metal to his left heralded yet more of the accursed things and he stepped into the breach with Thunder Hammer and Storm Shield. "For the Angel and the Emperor!"

Mercier sent long bursts of bolter fire along the narrow corridor. The heavy bolter was a fine example of its type, beautifully balanced, decorated with the aquila in gold and chased in gilts and bronzes. Thankfully the marine, Sedreth, had brought plenty of ammunition, because there was no shortage of targets.

Quinn grimaced as a stealer claw dug into his thigh, tearing the hallowed plate like paper. He stuck his stormbolter into the thing's face and blew its head off, kicking the corpse loose. Blood poured briefly from the injury before his enhanced metabolism clotted the wound.

Vatiel stood waiting as the horde came round the corridor into his field of fire. He had only one shot left and was determined to make it count. He raised the heavy flamer to get the best spread. The lead 'stealer was just two metres from him when he pressed the firing stud. A claw drove into his chest and everything went black.

Desial cursed as his brother went down with a xeno on top of him. A burst from his stormbolter killed the thing, and he ran in a lumbering sprint to the other's side. "Stay alive brother. We are not done yet." He knelt facing the still-burning corridor, his stormbolter over his forearm in the classic marksman's pose. He had ten shots. That was ten dead xenos.

"They're falling back!" yelled Mercier.

Desial echoed him. "Here too. But Vatiel's down."

Falco smashed another stealer into ruin and paused. There wasn't another, just half a dozen corpses. He winced at the pain beside his left shoulder; broken collar-bone, for certain. At least they were still alive. "Clear here also."

Quinn looked at the marine in front of him. "We're clear along here too. Where have they gone?"

The echoing thunder of dozens of bolters answered for him.

"They're attacking the reinforcements," said the big stranger. Quinn realised that he was tall, even for a space marine, nearly three metres. Sedreth, that was the name he'd given. He reached up and detached his half-smashed helmet revealing a handsome face with cold grey eyes under close-cropped white-blond hair. He spoke into his vox. "Janey, can you get a lock on any of us?"

Quinn couldn't here the answer, but it was clearly negative. Sedreth took something from his utility belt, a small square box with a strap attached.

"Teleport booster. I only have the two, I'm afraid. There's a lot of interference and we may need both for one man. But we can get at least one of your wounded brothers out."

Quinn nodded. "Vatiel, then."

"Janey, we're going to boost the signal on a wounded man. Can you have medical ready for him; it looks bad?"

Quinn heard the acknowledgement this time, a light female voice. "Yes, Mr Morgan."

Sedreth strapped the devices to Vatiel and grinned down at the barely conscious man. "One to teleport, Janey."

There was a flare of light and Vatiel vanished. Sedreth spoke into his vox again. "You have him?"

"Yes, Mr Morgan. But he's really bad. Mummy's on the comm to the Blood Angels; we're going to 'port him to them."

Sedreth looked at Quinn. "You heard that?"

Quinn nodded. "Vatiel has been worse. He will survive."

Sedreth grinned at him. "Then I suggest we hit the bastard things from behind while they're attacking the Third Company."

Falco chuckled. "Typical assault marine."

Sedreth gave him a wicked smile. "I'm no assault marine, brother-sergeant. But I do owe the Blood Angels; a Blood Angel saved my life a long time ago. I'd quite like to repay the debt."

Quinn looked at him and the others. "Well, we cannot hold here; we don't have enough people to cover all the attack vectors. Falco, take point. Let's go."

They moved out as a mixed squad, the assault sergeant in the lead, then the other assault marine, Rachiel, with his massive lightning claws, Sedreth, Desial the marksman, Mercier and finally himself bringing up the rear with his powersword and stormbolter. He spoke into the vox.

"Squad Quinn to Lord Commander Dante. We have insufficient firepower to hold our position against another attack. Moving out to rendezvous with the Third Company. We will attempt to assault the xenos from behind while they are engaged with captain Esceriel's warriors."

The reply came through, distorted and scratchy. "Acknowledged brother-sergeant. Captain Esceriel has been informed. The Angel look on you, brother."

They were lucky; they didn't encounter anything until they were only metres from Esceriel's position. An apparently endless wave of genestealers was sweeping forward into the massed fire of the Third Company.

"There's quite a few of them," said Sedreth conversationally. "Can you two keep them off our flanks for a while? I suspect we're about to be unpopular."

Falco laughed aloud. "I suspect you are correct, Sedreth. On your command, brother-sergeant?"

Quinn grinned and nodded. "Keep them from flanking us as long as you can."

Falco and Rachiel slid to either side of their small firing line even as a couple of stealers near the rear of the horde turned and spotted them. Mercier's heavy bolter roared thunder, joined almost immediately by himself and Desial, the latter having scavenged spare clips from their two dead brothers, Laertes and Eliadus, whose bodies they'd passed on the way. Sedreth had taken a kneeling stance and was firing short controlled bursts into the xenos line, as if he was simply at target practice. The swarm seemed to hesitate at the sudden attack, then missiles streaked out from Esceriel's heavy weapons squads to explode in the middle of the dense-packed creatures and they split, one group heading towards the new attackers to the rear, the rest reforming and charging the Third Company's massed bolters. Quinn had just enough time to see that captain Esceriel's Company was going to cope quite comfortably, then the monsters were on them and there was nothing to do but fire until his weapon clicked empty, then wade into the clawed mass and take as many with him as he could.

* * *

It was carnage. Quinn and his Terminators had timed their assault perfectly. Esceriel nodded in satisfaction as the mass of creatures simply dissolved under the concentrated fire of his squads.

"Flamers!" he yelled, and white-hot streams of promethium swept out, crisping the downed and dead alike and turning the blood-slicked floors black with ashes.

"Company will advance. For the Emperor!"

The answering roar was massive as almost a hundred blood-red-armoured figures smashed their way forward behind non-stop weapons fire. Chainswords rose and fell as the few surviving 'stealers attempted to fight and kill. Ahead Esceriel could see the Terminator firing line almost buried under clawed monstrosities.

"No mercy! Kill them all!" He saw chaplain Caliel's crozius shining gold as it rose and fell, smashing xenos to ruin, driving at the head of wedge of chainsword-wielding assault marines towards the beleaguered First Company warriors. He could still see, and hear, the massive Thunder Hammer of brother-sergeant Falco as the assault Terminator fought like a madman against multiple opponents, and one of the warriors was still firing but they were not going to make it.

A huge voice bellowed something and a dozen 'stealers fell, wracked by lightnings. Mephiston! The Librarian was at his most fearsome, wreathed in psychic might as he called the wrath of the Emperor down upon his enemies. Beside him a familiar gold-armoured figure led four full squads of Terminators to the assault. The xenos seemed to shudder then they were scattering, fleeing.

Dante's deep bass bellowed above the din. "Blood Angels, hold ranks. Let them flee. Secure our brethren."

The assault halted, squads taking firing positions in mutual support. Esceriel smiled briefly. He had never been so proud of his company as he was right now.

From beneath a mass of xenos corpses a battered and blood-stained figure heaved itself upright. His helmet was gone, and there were huge gouges and scores in his armour, but nonetheless sergeant Falco managed to salute his Lord Commander.

"Lord Commander, squad Falco reporting. Two dead, one evacuated, one wounded and unfit for combat, one effective. Squad Laertes, all lost. Squad Quinn," he paused and shoved a dead 'stealer aside. "Two dead, three wounded and unfit for combat." Falco swayed slightly. "Plus one reinforcement, alive but critical, I think." He reached for a purple boot, swayed again and would have collapsed had Dante himself not caught him. Other marines moved to assist, shoving genestealer corpses aside without ceremony. A purple- and gold-armoured marine was pulled clear of the pile, his chestplate torn apart and blood all over him. He still clutched a blood-drenched chainsword in his right hand. Round his neck was a golden chain from which hung...

There was a ringing, a light. Everything stopped.

Mephiston's voice was disbelieving. "That cannot be."

"It,... sings," said someone behind him.

Something was buzzing in his ear. He shook his head. "Captain Esceriel. Brother-captain, respond."

His voice shook. "Esceriel here."

"Matthias here. I can't raise the Lord Commander. Listen, Esceriel, whatever is going on, it doesn't matter right now. There's more 'stealers coming your way. Hundreds. You hear me? Get your marines out of there before you're overrun."

He looked round. Half his marines were kneeling, entranced at the glowing pinion held in Mephiston's trembling hand. "Matthias, we can't pull out. I'm not even sure my marines are aware of themselves right now. I'll explain later. We need reinforcements; let's take the bastard xenos apart here and now."

"Esceriel, we tried that a thousand years ago, remember? The chapter lost nine hundred and sixty dead that day."

"I know. We shall not today, however. Get everyone you can spare. This day will go down in the chapter's history as one of our greatest."

"The Lord Commander?"

He saw Dante give a shudder, as if waking from a dream. His voice was slightly shaken, the first time anyone had ever heard even the remotest tremor in that gravelled baritone. "Can answer for myself. Matthias, I want all your Terminators here. As fast as you can. And every Librarian we have. Sandros, your assault company too. It is time these genestealers learned exactly what it means to face the Blood Angels."

He turned to Esceriel. "Get this man to the apothecaries, and tell them if he dies, so do they. I want him alive to tell us where he got this. It is real, isn't it, Mephiston? Not some sort of trick?"

The Librarian nodded, his face grim. "It is a true relic. A pinion of the Angel Himself. Part of the Primarch, restored to the Chapter after ten thousand years."

Esceriel looked at them both, then started snapping out orders, walking from squad to squad, looking into the eyes of his marines, re-forming them into a coherent company. Mephiston came up beside him, still holding the golden chain, letting each marine reverently touch the gleaming feather.

The Lord Commander stood and watched them, then spoke quietly into the silence. "Brothers, a relic of the Primarch has been restored to us. The xenos are massing for another assault. They will fail. Captain Esceriel, defensive positions."

* * *

Janey watched the tacscan. "Mummy, Mr Morgan's icon is still active. He's moving slowly to the rear of the marine positions."

Mummy nodded. "He must be hurt. They're evacuating the wounded before the 'stealers attack again."

"Are you going to join in?"

She shook her head. "I'd just be in the way. Morgan's a fully trained and very experienced marine; I'm not."

"Will he be alright?"

"Yes, I should think so. The Blood Angels are used to caring for wounded space marines."

Janey nodded and turned back to the screens, a frown of worry creasing her face.


	17. Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Sixteen

Quinn sat on the infirmary bed as apothecaries and medical servitors fussed around him, and looked ruefully down at his shattered armour, then at his brothers. Desial nodded, wincing despite himself against the pain of his many injuries.

Mercier gave a slight, equally pained, grin. "We were lucky, brother-sergeant. If he had not arrived when he did, we would have been over-run. Captain Esceriel's company would have been exposed too."

Quinn nodded, glancing briefly to the unconscious and bloody astartes laying on a medi-couch a few metres away. "Sedreth, he called himself."

"That's what it says on his shoulder-plate. Do you recognise the device?"

"No, nor the colours. Someone spent a lot of time on these though." The sergeant leaned over and lifted the marine's bolt pistol for inspection, handing it round. It was chased and gilded, beautified without any loss of function.

Desial took it and inspected it carefully, then nodded. "It has been customised very carefully, as well as decorated. See, it has a slightly longer barrel than is normal, and the magazine feed has been redesigned to load each bolt further back. The modification should increase both the penetration and accuracy without greatly reducing the fire rate. Whoever did it was a master armsman."

Mercier was reading the inlay on the heavy bolter he still carried. "Listen to this. '_To my brother Trent Baxter. Stand fast, 79__th__. Astartes-captain Chaom Grier, 43__rd__ company, Legio IX._' There's a Blood Angels sigil beside that winged talon."

"Legio IX. That's us alright, we were the ninth of the Emperor's Legions. But, 43rd Company? There hasn't been a 43rd Company since the Second Founding. That weapon must be ancient."

"Ancient or not, it works. It's beautifully balanced, too. I've rarely held any heavy weapon with suspensors this good."

"I think we should discuss this with the captain." The three marines moved away from the unconscious stranger in search of their company commander.

* * *

Dante looked down at the unconscious marine. "How is he/"

"He is gravely injured. A 'stealer claw cut his chest-plate in two. Another centimetre or two and he'd be dead."

"Any idea who he is?"

"No, Lord Commander. The name Sedreth is unknown to me nor is it in any archive we have. But he has all fourteen astartes implants and all function perfectly. I am quite certain that there are very few chapters where that remains the case, although getting the information even from our closest brother chapters is very difficult. I have tried running a genetic match; he is not descended either from the Blood Angels, the Imperial Fists or the Ultramarines. We have sufficient on file to determine that. We do not have sufficient data here to determine any of the other First Founding lineages, but I would also discount the Salamanders, given their genetic darkening of the melanoma, and the Raven Guard, for opposite but similar reasons. Nor has he progenoid glands I could study; they were removed, and many years ago if I am not mistaken."

"Have you run his armour through the archives?"

"Yes, Lord Commander. It is Mk IV armour, what is commonly called Maximus armour as it was considered the final extension of the early armour marks, and has seen hundreds of minor repairs. As might be expected, of course; all such suits are thousands of years old. The colours match no current codex chapter. The decoration on his bolter says '79th'. However the 79th Chapter astartes is the Angels Penitent, a Fourth Founding Chapter reputedly descendant of the Dark Angels. Moreover their colours are recorded in the archives as quartered dark green and gold, edged in white, with a sigil of a chalice between two wings, all in white."

"Hmm. Interesting. And the device on this?" Dante indicated the half-smashed purple shoulder-plate still awaiting removal by the chapter's techmarines.

"The gold winged talon matches no current codex sigil, Lord Commander. I have not looked at the former insignia of renegade chapters, but I suspect it belongs to one of them. Although why, in that case, he would intervene to fight and die alongside the Blood Angels is not clear."

"He did not die."

"A matter of chance, Lord Commander. His injuries would have been fatal without the intervention of our apothecaries; may still be, despite our treatment. Were he in less than excellent condition he would be dead already."

"Oh?"

"Indeed, Lord Commander. I have rarely seen a space marine in such superlative physical shape. He clearly trains often, and moreover works out very hard indeed. I would suggest that when fully fit he would be a formidable opponent."

"Very well. Keep me informed." Dante nodded briefly and left, his thoughts whirling. No First Founding lineage, eh? If he was what that armour proclaimed that was hardly surprising.

* * *

"Captain Tarken, the marine who teleported from your ship to the hulk is severely injured. Our apothecaries are not certain he will survive his injuries."

The woman nodded slowly. "Brother-captain Esceriel, I would be grateful if you could keep me informed as to his condition. He is a good friend."

"He saved the lives of Blood Angels; he will get the best medical treatment we can offer. You will be pleased to know that brother Vatiel, who you successfully evacuated from the hulk, will make a full recovery."

"And the other brave warriors in his squad?"

"Those who survived to assault the 'stealers will all live, though brother Rachiel has lost his left arm and will be obliged to change weapons from his lightning claws. The Third Company lost fewer than might have been expected, indeed the chapter as a whole lost fewer than we expected, given the opposition. The Emperor was with us today."

Sara smiled gravely, slightly surprised that the loss of over ninety astartes could be 'lower than expected' against almost any opposition. Then again, maybe not, she thought, mindful of the Black Templar losses at Caltenis. "And the Angel, brother-captain, if I may be so bold. The Grace of both father and son shone on the Blood Angels today," she replied.

Esceriel inclined his head. "Indeed. However, there is another issue. Your companion is too badly injured to be moved without risk. We have no doubt that you do not wish to leave him. Accordingly, Lord Commander Dante offers you the hospitality of our facilities at Baal Secundus."

She gave a brief bow. "We are immensely honoured, brother-captain. There is, however, one slight problem. We have no Navigator to see us through the warp so far a distance."

He blinked, surprised. "You have astropaths, surely?"

She shook her head. "No, brother-captain. We do not."

"I shall speak to the Lord Commander. We have a sufficiency and can perhaps offer one of our own. Esceriel out."

"It is a good excuse to explore this mysterious vessel. Very well, Esceriel, but take sufficient forces to secure yourself. I suggest you take your entire company. A vessel that size should have sufficient space; it was designed to carry a company of astartes as well as a crew."

"Mummy, there's a formation of Thunderhawks putting off from _Eternal Wrath_. Ten of them."

"Ten? That's a whole company's worth. Janey, you better get down to the main hanger and greet our new guests."

She smiled. "Okay, mummy. Formal dress?"

"Yes. Armour-robe too. And your bolt pistol."

* * *

Esceriel watched as they closed the ship. No decoration, hardly. Just the upturned bow, carved into the likeness of some great golden raptor, and the aquila on the main control tower. He had to admit it was an impressive vessel. No match for _Eternal Wrath_, of course, but a serious warship all the same. He wondered how much of the original armament it retained behind the long long series of closed gunports.

They swept in a double-v formation towards the ship's hanger. The massive doors slid smoothly open revealing a huge empty space dominated by an Imperial Aquila above a winged talon device in gold, both many metres across. Not even a shuttle was parked on the deck, however. Nor were there any crewmen in sight.

"Hmm. Full alert. Squads to standard dispersal. Keep engines hot until I confirm otherwise. Tell the astropaths to remain in their Thunderhawk until I give them permission to debark."

He remained up front, watching through the armoured windscreen as they came into land. There. Movement, which resolved itself into a single figure leading a series of transport trolleys. A very small figure in a long white dress with a purple and gold over-robe. He recognised the girl-child who had answered the comms. Interesting.

"Disembark."

Janey walked towards the blood-red-painted Thunderhawks, her heart thudding in her chest. The Blood Angels. Wow. She kept walking as the squads disembarked and took up defensive positions around their aircraft. Silly. She spotted the captain by his insignia and walked towards him, leaving the trolleys behind.

"Brother-captain Esceriel? I'm Jane Tarken. My mother's on the bridge, but she says you're very welcome aboard." She saluted, just like Mr Morgan had shown her.

Esceriel watched the girl approach. The over-robe she wore was clearly a match for the armour the marine Sedreth had worn. Interesting. She had a headset over her shoulder length dark hair and a smile on her face. No more than eleven or so, with a holstered, astartes-issue, bolt pistol that looked far too big for her at her slim hip and an aquila-decorated combat blade strapped to her forearm. She walked straight to him, which was very interesting. Her greeting was formal and precise. The salute, however, took him by surprise; it could have come from a Blood Angel parade ground. He returned it formally, despite the fact that she barely reached his waist.

"Sera Tarken. We are grateful for your hospitality. I trust our numbers will not prove a problem?" They had better not, he thought.

She smiled. "No problem at all, brother-captain. We have lots of space." The smile widened. "It'll be nice to have new faces aboard."

'Nice' wasn't a word Esceriel had often heard applied to his chapter. Or any chapter for that matter. Space marines didn't do 'nice'. This could be interesting.

The girl was still talking. "My mother suggested that you might take accommodations on decks five and six, brother-captain. There's sufficient room for a company there and the facilities on those decks include practice rooms. There's also a combat range on level six. Although you're welcome to use our own combat range and practice facilities, of course, on level nine. Mr Morgan, sorry, brother-sergeant Sedreth, installed a combat trainer there which is of course at your disposal while you're aboard. You can use any of our armouries for your gear; we only use the auxiliary armoury on level eleven of the main control tower and the main stern armoury on level four."

He nodded. "That seems adequate. Can you have your crew lock down our transports?"

She smiled but shook her head. "That isn't possible, brother-captain. Neither of us know how. But your own warriors can have any access or facility they need to do it."

He looked at her then what she'd just said struck him. "Neither of us? How many crew do you have, sera?"

"Me and mummy and Mr Morgan." She grinned. "And the ship itself of course. _Phoenix_ was fully automated centuries ago."

"Three of you?" On a ship this size? The Chapter's techmarines would be all over this vessel like a swarm of insects.

She nodded. "Yes, Do you want to come up to the bridge at once? Or would you like to get your men settled first? And you'll want to visit the chapel, of course?"

Esceriel found himself smiling at such innocent enthusiasm. The girl wasn't at all intimidated by a company of Blood Angels; obviously she was no stranger to astartes.

"I think the chapel first."

She nodded and spoke into her headset. "Mummy, Captain Esceriel wants to visit the chapel first." She listened to a response. "I don't know. I'll ask."

She turned back to him. "Brother-captain, do you want to visit the new chapel?"

"You have more than one?"

She nodded. "We made a new one for refugees and other people when we take them on board. It's more, well, normal, for civilians Ours is a proper astartes chapel with remembrance columns and stuff. Mr Morgan thought it would be better if strangers didn't use it. But since you're space marines, I think it'll be okay."

"Then we shall visit the astartes chapel."

"Okay." She spoke into her headset again. "Mummy, the proper one. Yes, okay." She looked up at him. "Mummy will meet us there. What about your gear?"

He watched his squad sergeants finishing lock-down of the Thunderhawks' in standard docking brackets for a moment before replying. "It can wait, for now. Lead on, sera."

She giggled and nodded, hopping aboard a small transport trolley. "Marines walk fast," she said with a grin.

* * *

It was, reflected Esceriel, one of the most unusual experiences he had had in the two and half centuries he had served in the Blood Angels. The girl, happily rolling along on her little trolley, leading eighty-two space marines in full armour down a long processional. The golden winged talon device hung on alternate walls every twenty metres. Polished, wooden-faced doors stood open on empty chamber after empty chamber, but she didn't seem at all bothered, chattering away merrily.

"I run the processional four times a day," she said. "As part of my exercises. Mummy does too, but Mr Morgan makes her carry a backpack. He put it up to fifty-five kilos two months ago. Mummy complains, but I don't think she really minds. Mr Morgan runs it eight times a day, with four hundred kilos on his back, so he's not asking us to do anything he wouldn't do himself. He's much stronger than we are though."

Thirty-two kilometres a day? That was a decent basic workout. Interesting that the man considered himself a sergeant. He wondered where the rest of his squad were, what had happened to them. He very carefully tried to ignore some of the more unpleasant possibilities, at least until he had more information. "What else does brother-sergeant Sedreth do?"

She grinned, eyes shining with enthusiasm. "Well, he trains me and mummy. We both do two hours of exercises between shifts. Twice a day, that means. I do blades or unarmed every day, with gymnastics and bolters alternate days. Mummy does blades every day, plus one hour of unarmed combat, and an hour on the combat range every day. And he sets us tactical exercises too. Plus I do scan as well as lessons, and mummy does piloting and navigation exercises. Mr Morgan supervises and sometimes does the exercises with us, plus he spends at least an hour on the combat trainer every day. And he uses the combat range a lot."

A busy day. Esceriel couldn't help but approve; idle hands meant idle minds, and that could easily lead to curiosity and far worse things. "You spend four hours a day in combat exercises?"

She nodded with a smile. "Mr Morgan says I'm getting good."

"I am sure you are. But why do them?"

She gave him a look, as if he was being stupid. It was not a look he was used to receiving. "'Cos there's lots of people want to kill us. And so we can help people."

He caught sergeant Odo's eye. The veteran looked slightly amused. "Who would want to kill you, sera?" Esceriel asked.

She paused for a few seconds, as if wondering how to phrase her answer. "Well, they're mostly after Mr Morgan of course, but the Children want him dead, 'specially since he killed Marius."

"Children?" He had a horrible thought about that word. He wasn't disappointed. Odo's amused look faded.

She nodded. "The Emperor's Children. Mr Morgan's old Legion. They want to kill him, of course, 'cos he serves the Emperor again an' they don't like that at all. But also mummy, 'cos she wears their codex colours on her armour, an' they really really don't like that. Mummy said they got really mad when they saw her on Plett. An' I guess they'd kill me too, just 'cos they could. An' the Word Bearers would too, 'cos we got some of them on Haura. An' the other chaos legions probably, but they want to kill pretty much everyone anyway. Oh, there's mummy." She stopped the trolley and stepped off without apparently realising the gravity of her statement.

Esceriel walked beside her towards the black-cloaked woman in purple and gold powered battle-armour – he wasn't a techmarine, but it looked like an adaptation of astartes plate just as she'd said – waiting in front of immense doors of polished, inlaid wood beneath a great golden aquila. He noticed she wore a purity seal of the Black Templars proudly on the front corner of her left shoulder-plate. A very traditional place to wear it.

"Brother-captain Esceriel? It's an honour to have you and your company aboard. I watched the tactical readouts during the boarding of the hulk. You are very skilled." Her voice was polite but held a clear welcome.

"Thank you, captain," he said, returning another parade ground salute. Tarken had a faint scar on her cheek and cool calm dark eyes in what was a remarkably pretty face. She gave him a brief smile and turned, then paused and looked back at them.

"Brother-captain, this place is not something you will have seen before. Please respect it, and the many astartes commemorated here." She pushed the doors gently and they swung open revealing a brightly lit chamber hung with flags. She led them inside.

It was like, yet unlike, any other chapel they had seen. A plain altar in front of rows of astartes-sized wooden pews. On it, two gold and silver candlesticks and a large chalice formed in the shape of the same winged talon that he was now almost certain must be the codex sigil of the pre-Heresy Emperor's Children; above it, a huge purple silk battle standard edged and embroidered – that talon again – in gold which read _'Legio Astartes III'_ and _'79__th__ – Stand fast'_. Beyond the altar, a long passage of alcoves, each with a marble column. Above most hung a flag. Purple and gold, most of them, but also the familiar yellow and black of the Imperial Fists, the gleaming white of the White Scars, the black and white of the Raven Guard. And the Iron Hands. And the Salamanders, the Space Wolves. And the Chapter. Blood Angels banners; he counted seven.

And other banners he did not recognise. And some he did. The midnight and silver with skull that was still the emblem of the accursed Night Lords. What had to be a pre-Heresy World Eaters banner, blood still staining the blue and white silk below the open stylised jaws. A crimson and white banner he did not know; several white and green banners likewise unfamiliar. A purple banner with a chained 'A' that was probably Alpha Legion. Several pearl-white banners with a black wolf's head which must be Luna Wolves. He felt rather than heard the indrawn breaths from behind him.

Tarken turned to look at them all. "Welcome, Blood Angels, to the remembrance chapel, the last remembrance chapel, of the Emperor's Children."

Esceriel drew along breath. "Give me one good reason why I should not kill you, captain. This place, it is Heresy."

She met his eyes unafraid. "No. Every single warrior named in this place died for his Emperor, a loyal space marine. Well, my late husband wasn't a space marine, but he died for the Emperor just as they all did." She moved to the right, gestured towards a huge golden plaque, metres across, which took up most of the wall. "Look here, Blood Angels. Do you know these names? These are the Betrayed, the loyal astartes who were virus-bombed from orbit by Horus Lupercal at the beginning of the Heresy. Do you deny _their_ memory?"

She turned abruptly and walked down the long passage to the middle. "Or His?" She pointed.

Esceriel walked closer and stopped abruptly as the picture came into his line of vision.

"By the Throne!" came a soft voice behind him. Odo. "The Primarch."

Tarken nodded. "As he was on planet one-forty-twenty."

"Murder," said Esceriel. It was an infamous campaign, and well covered in the histories.

She gave a tight smile. "Quite so. Murder. Sedreth says it's a good likeness." The smile became slightly more real. "You are welcome to look round, to say a prayer for the Fallen. Please treat it with the respect due the dead."

Esceriel looked across at the other portrait and swallowed. "That..."

"The Legion's Primarch. Fulgrim, as he was. Before."

Esceriel raised his bolter. A small hand grabbed it. "No. It wasn't his fault. He'll be free one day an' the Emperor will have him back at his side."

Caliel strode forward, his face furious. "What Heresy is this, child?"

She met the chaplain glare for glare. "He was tricked by a daemon, an' possessed. The Emperor knows. An' the Emperor will forgive him, an' they'll be together again. An' no-one touches his picture."

Caliel stared at her in disbelief. She folded her arms and scowled at the huge black-armoured chaplain, utterly unintimidated. "Don't make me hurt you, child."

She suddenly grinned. "Don' make _me_ hurt _you_, you mean." An impish challenge showed in her eyes.

Esceriel stepped between them. "Enough. For the present, in light of your actions in support of the chapter so far, we will take no action. However, captain Tarken, you and your daughter will consider yourselves under arrest pending our arrival at Baal, when the Chapter will get to the bottom of this ship and your presence aboard it."

Mother and daughter looked at each other, then deliberately handed their weapons to the nearest astartes, bowed and walked to the exit.

Tarken paused at the door. "Well, captain? I presume you will need the command codes? The bridge is this way."

Esceriel nodded and walked beside her, wondering why he still trusted her. Behind them the wide open chapel doors shone chalcedony light down the corridor.

* * *

"A portrait of the Primarch, you say?"

"Yes, Lord Commander. A life-size portrait. In a remembrance alcove, one of many. Above it hangs a Blood Angels banner. The 43rd company. There are three columns in the alcove; two hundred and seventy-one Blood Angels are named on those, most from that company, but also from the 32nd, 117th and 60th companies. With a further eighty-two named in other alcoves. In total, Lord Commander, the remembrance columns name three thousand and sixty-four astartes, one Imperial Guard soldier, and one and seventeen other Imperial military personnel. That figure does not includes the plaque on the right-hand wall, which names thirty-seven thousand one hundred and twelve astartes."

"Thirty-seven thousand?" Dante's voice held astonishment behind the normal gruff tones.

"Yes, Lord Commander. Captain Tarken claims that it is the drop list for the loyal astartes virus-bombed from orbit by their commanders on Isstvan III at the beginning of the Heresy."

"Does she indeed? Anything else?"

"There is one other portrait, facing that of Lord Sanguinius. Also life-size."

"The traitor Fulgrim, I presume?"

"Indeed, Lord Commander. Wearing the aquila and leading a mixed force of astartes. Including Blood Angels."

"Apart from our own brethren, which formations are represented?"

"All the First Founding Legions, Lord Commander, have marines named in one or other alcove. Although there are no banners for the Ultramarines, Dark Angels or the treacherous Word Bearers. The most common banner, apart from the Emperor's Children of course, is the Luna Wolves. There is also one alcove which commemorates Grey Knights killed less than three years ago. Captain Tarken confirms they were killed by Emperor's Children heretics during an action in the Plett system."

That gave even the Lord Commander cause to hesitate; the Grey Knights' loyalty and honour were legend, even amongst the astartes. "And can any of your chaplains or librarians detect any trace of taint? I would not risk your company, Esceriel."

"No, Lord Commander. Apart from Tarken and her daughter the ship is deserted. All systems appear to be automated – machines, not servitors. The only other crew member was the marine known as Sedreth."

"An Emperor's Children 'loyalist'. When he regains consciousness there are many questions for him to answer."

* * *

"Mummy, I'm bored." Janey had been set 'homework' – repeatedly writing out passages from a prayerbook provided by chaplain Caliel – and was obviously finished.

Sara looked up from her book, the _Lectitio Divinatus_ – again, courtesy of chaplain Caliel – and smiled slightly. "Captain Esceriel said we were to stay here."

The little face nodded sadly from her seat at the workdesk. "Can't we even do our exercises?"

Sara nodded; it would be good for her daughter to work off her excess energy, and she was getting a bit stir-crazy herself. "I'll ask. It won't do any harm." She stood and walked to the door where brother sergeant Deneth stood on guard.

The Blood Angel looked at her without expression. "I shall relay your request. Return to your reading."

Sara nodded and walked back.

Janey looked at her. "Mummy, do they really think we're traitors?"

"I don't know, darling. I don't think so. If they did they'd just have killed us. I think they're worried though. It can't be every day they meet a ship with a loyal Emperor's Children space marine."

"I suppose. I thought they'd be nicer though. Mr Morgan always said he liked the Blood Angels."

"He said he'd liked the Death Guard too, Janey, and they're definitely not nice."

"Not now. Not since they turned traitor. It's all that Lorgar's fault."

Sara chuckled. "Yes, probably. Although that's maybe because he wanted a God to believe in." She grinned and held up the book. "It's weird really. Morgan said he wrote most of this, the most holy book in the Imperium. Yet he hates the very being who it reveres."

A quiet voice came over the comm-link. Esceriel. "That is an interesting point of view, captain. It could easily be construed as heresy."

Sara looked up at the speaker. "Indeed, captain. Nonetheless, it is true. The traitor Lorgar wrote the _Lectitio Divinatus_, raising his father to godhood, against the Emperor's express wishes. And now the very reason he turned traitor in the first place has taken root across the Imperium. You are astartes, captain. You know the Emperor as other than a God. So do Janey and I."

"I think, captain, that it would be better for you to exercise than to delve into these issues. You have access to the practice rooms if you require them. Unarmed and blades only."

"Thank you, captain. May we use them now?"

"Yes, if you wish. Deneth will escort you."

Janey gave her mother a formal bow and came on guard in a defensive stance. Mummy was bigger and stronger, with a longer reach, but she was a touch faster and trained unarmed more often. She ignored the three or four armoured space marines watching idly from around the walls. A couple had drifted in as they'd been warming up; just sergeant Deneth had been there when they'd started.

"Let's take it slow at first," said mummy. "I'm still a little stiff from sitting around for three days."

She nodded and they began at about half-speed. After a few minutes mummy nodded.

"Okay, that feels right. First to ten, pull on contact?"

Janey nodded, feeling Mr Morgan's grin pulling at her face. Mummy's smile was just as wicked. Okay, she thought, let's show the space marines what girls can do. Mummy looked to sergeant Deneth. "Brother-sergeant, would you keep score?"

He nodded, the impassive face flickering brief surprise. He moved from the wall. "Begin."

Mummy's attack was fast and strong, and Janey barely parried it; mummy knocked her counter aside and then everything was a blur.

"Brother-captain, Deneth here. You will want to see this. Level nine practice room three." Esceriel was surprised by Deneth's voice over the vox. He acknowledged and walked along the corridors and down.

Walking in, he found more than half the company – all the marines not actually on duty elsewhere – standing against the walls, watching Tarken and her daughter going at it hammer and tongs in the middle of the room. Caliel nodded to him from the observation balcony. The chaplain had a strange expression as he watched the fight. A blow went home.

"Point. Seven-four." Deneth was keeping score? The two bounced apart and came together again. He recognised a standard astartes unarmed combat sequence. Then another. Blood and sand! Both of them were using space marine techniques. And using them superbly. He noted that more than half the observers, and all the sergeants, had helmets on. Two of his marines were operating recorders mounted on the balcony. Good. He blinked as Tarken's strike was slipped and she went flying across the room. That child did not just do that. Caliel's expression was sardonic, which he knew meant the chaplain was impressed. At least he wasn't the only one.

"Point. Seven-five."

Tarken grinned and came back on guard. Hmm. They were both pulling the strikes, but at that speed it would be easy for them to injure each other. Interesting. That move was something he'd never seen before. The girl rolled smoothly to her feet and grinned.

"Point. Eight-five."

The briefing room was quiet as the squad leaders watched the recordings. Esceriel, Caliel and the company Librarian, Jacobus, sat round the table with the sergeants. After an hour or so, Esceriel paused the playback.

"Comments?"

Odo chuckled. "Keep it for training. The scouts could always do with a little humility." There was general laughter; they had all trained recruits at one point or another.

Jacobus smiled briefly. "It is impressive. For normal humans to fight at that speed for that time indicates a high level of physical conditioning."

"But?"

"I worry, brother-captain. Why does a girl-child need training like that?"

"Perhaps she wishes to join the Sisters of Battle," said Deneth.

Esceriel shook his head. "They do not follow the Imperial cult. The girl, especially, talks of the Emperor as a child might speak of a beloved patriarch. The mother read your copy of the _Lectitio_, Caliel, then commented on the irony of its original author having been the driving force behind the Heresy."

Caliel scowled. "That author is not exactly common knowledge, brother-captain. In point of fact, I have never before heard anyone suggest that the accursed Word Bearers were behind the Heresy. Do you believe that might be the case?"

Esceriel shrugged. "I don't know that it matters; whoever started the damned thing, it is the results we need to deal with."

Caliel nodded. "They need to learn discretion. They could, possibly should, be executed for comments of that nature."

Odo grimaced. "Yet they appear utterly loyal to the Emperor."

Jacobus hesitated, then spoke quietly. "They are, brother-sergeant. That child _believes_ in Him. It blazes off her like a beacon. To her, the Emperor is like a lode-star. Everything she does is about Him."

"And the mother?"

"Is as dangerous as any non-astartes human I have ever seen. She is fiercely loyal to the Emperor, but even more so to her daughter. Both of them have killed, more than once. And..."

"And?"

"I got a glimpse, just a glimpse mind, of Tarken killing an Inquisitor."

"An Inquisitor? Are you certain?"

"Not certain, no. Both of them have very disciplined minds. Rather like astartes' minds actually. They are difficult to read. I could break in of course, but that could damage her permanently."

"We must know. If she would attack an Inquisitor, then Sara Tarken is not loyal to the Imperium."

Jacobus chuckled softly. "That I know already, brother-chaplain; neither of them even try to hide it. They consider themselves loyal to the Emperor, not to the Imperium."

"Now that is interesting. Two highly trained and very dangerous women on a ship capable of destroying almost anything it might encounter who consider themselves capable of distinguishing between the blessed Emperor and the Imperium."

"Much as we do," said Garth, the assault squad sergeant, quietly. He grinned briefly at Caliel. "You know we do, brother-chaplain. We defend humanity in the Emperor's name and by His will. Yet," he paused, "the actions of the Imperium do not always meet with our approval. Our loyalties are to Him, not to the Administratum or Ecclesiarchy or any other branch of the Imperium. Which is why there is always certain tensions between the astartes and the High Lords of Terra. They are aware that, should any of the lost Primarchs reappear, every astartes chapter would rally to support him over the Council."

There was a long silence. "Then what do we do?"

Esceriel looked at the grim faces. "We let them practice. We record those practices; Odo is right there. They are both very good and it will be instructive for our brothers to be reminded not to underestimate opponents. And we observe their actions. When we get to Baal, we report to Lord Commander Dante and Lord Librarian Mephiston. Then we will decide how the chapter may honourably proceed.".

There was a series of nods and grunts of agreement. Then Deneth spoke again. "One thing, brother-captain. Would it be permissible for some of us to train with them?"

"Why?"

"Combat training builds a certain camaraderie, brother-chaplain. If they feel comfortable around us, they are more likely to tell us things."

Odo laughed. "One day, brother, when you command your own company, I shall be able to tell my recruits 'ah, but I knew him when'. That is an excellent idea. Brother-captain, I concur."

Esceriel nodded. "It is a good thought. Do that. But don't teach them any of our secrets."

Deneth inclined his head, a rare twinkle in his dark eyes.

It was quite something, thought Odo, as he watched his squad pound along the processional behind the child. It wasn't a particularly fast pace by astartes standards, but her presence had certainly driven the Blood Angels marines to train harder. Especially when she was able to score points against them. Brother Sodor, a veteran of more than two centuries who was widely respected, had likened her to an especially ferocious gretchen. '_She is small, and not strong by astartes standards, but she uses her size well. Do not underestimate such an apparently insignificant opponent. A blade in the knee can bring down even the mightiest astartes._'

Captain Esceriel had given permission for the pair to use the firing range, and they had not disappointed. Tarken, in her power armour, was as good as most astartes, cool and calm and precise. The girl was an excellent shot with a bolt pistol, even though she had to use it two-handed with a wrist brace. She moved well and picked her targets. Once she was grown, she would be formidably skilled. All in all, the experiment was proving beneficial. Every squad was working harder; no space marine would let himself be out-scored or out-worked by a woman.

Odo grinned behind his helmet. He had to admit he rather liked the pair. They were brave and smart. It was, he mused, a pity that the girl _was_ a girl. She would have made an outstanding recruit. Still, they would be at Baal in a week or so. The Lord Commander would expect a full report.

He smiled when he though of the reaction of the Chapter's techmarines to the armoury. A hundred sets of power armour. He wondered if the Lord Commander would take them for the Chapter. Perhaps not; they were all older marks, and using another unit's armour was not normal practice for space marines. On the other hand, what good they would do sitting on this ship without marines to fight in them he couldn't see.


	18. Chapter Seventeen

**Chapter Seventeen**

"Coming up on warp transition, brother-captain."

Esceriel nodded. Ahead of them, the scans showed _Eternal Wrath_ in position. He looked through the observation windows. The battle-barge almost glowed in the light of its Geller fields. He smiled slightly and turned back to the command bridge. Astropath Den Graz gave the signal and he felt the hairs on his skin prickle as the warp generators opened the gate for them to return to realspace.

They slipped through behind their companion, and he started to relax. It was always preferable to be in realspace rather than the warp. No matter how many times he had travelled the ethereal, he could never rid himself of the desire to escape it.

"Incoming signal from Baal Secundus control, brother-captain. We are cleared to dock."

"Take us in, then. The Lord Commander will want to come aboard once we are secure. Once we are powered down, I want everyone on parade in the main entrance hall, port side."

"By your command, brother-captain."

Esceriel nodded and left the bridge, headed for the armouries where his company had better be getting ready for the Lord Commander's inspection.

* * *

Dante watched as the ship's ramp extended. The strike destroyer was side-on to the great station and more than a few interested observers had watched as Esceriel brought her in for a precise dock. The extension of the ship's grapples at the bow had put more than just him in mind of a great predator's claws, and he grimaced as he imagined what it must have been like to be in a ship grasped in those huge clamps and seeing hundreds of insane chaos renegades swarming towards you. Everything about _Eyes of the Phoenix_ made him wary and it was with inner relief that he saw the Third Company waiting in parade formation as he walked up the broad gleaming metal.

He returned Esceriel's immaculate salute and walked with him along the polished ranks. Not a speck of dust, not a movement out of place. A credit to the astartes in general and to the Chapter in particular. Even the half-dozen non-astartes crew were as close to perfect as he'd seen in a long time. It was almost as if they were trying to reassure themselves that they remained Blood Angels.

As for the ship itself, it was as plain inside as it was outside, internal surfaces almost devoid of decoration. Only the huge aquila on the wall indicated it was – or had been – an Imperial warship. He walked with Esceriel and Mephiston through the double doors that led to the ship's processional, Third Company marines behind them stationing themselves silently in pairs at hundred-metre intervals along the long corridor.

Dante noted the decorations every ten metres, the open doors and empty rooms. It was a ghost ship, uncaring of the mortals that walked its corridors, but at the same time he found himself feeling almost welcome. He looked at his Chief Librarian who bore a faint smile.

"I think, Lord Commander, the ship is pleased to have Blood Angels walking its corridors once more."

At the end of the processional, in front of two massive polished wooden doors, stood a small group. All but two of the group wore power armour; Garth's squad of Blood Angels assault marines and the skull-masked figure of chaplain Caliel. The other two were both small by comparison, but both snapped to the same attention as the rest when Caliel gave the order. Interesting.

He gave the same inspection to the squad as he had done earlier; sergeant Garth had done his usual superlative job. The two females were likewise neatly turned out; the girl in a soft flowing white dress and (a defiance?) what had to be an Emperor's Children over-robe, the woman in all black, a tight-fitting jacket and trousers with a black and silver cloak – and a Black Templars purity seal. Neither was visibly armed.

He nodded. "Captain Tarken. A pleasure to meet you at last."

"The pleasure is mine, Lord Commander. It is an honour to welcome you aboard my ship. Might I present my daughter Janey. She is also my scan and comms tech."

My ship. So it was like that was it? He inclined his head to the child. "Sera." He looked at the doors. "So this is the famous chapel? May I?" Not as if they were going to stop him, but politeness cost nothing.

Sara Tarken smiled briefly, as if recognising the polite order for what it was and gently pushed the doors open. A white light spilled out into the corridor. Dante walked with his escorts through the entrance.

It was just as Esceriel had described. He looked at the woman, indicating the great golden wall-covering with its long long lists. "Are you sure of those names?"

She nodded. "We found the drop lists. We removed only one name from them, and added First Captain Saul Tarvitz in its place."

"You removed a name?"

She nodded again. "Captain Lucius of the Emperor's Children 13th Company. He turned his coat during the fighting. The first of a long long list of heinous acts."

Dante looked at her. "_The_ Lucius? The heretic called 'eternal'?"

"Yes. All the others stood against Horus and died for their Emperor."

"Stood against? I thought they were bombed from orbit without warning?"

"That is the accepted tale, Lord Commander. However Sedreth's information is understandably more accurate. First Captain Tarvitz got wind of the betrayal and took a Thunderhawk to the surface with a warning. Most of the force got to underground bunkers in time to survive the virus-bombs. They held out for more than three months."

"The arch-heretic did not simply bombard them from orbit?"

"He could not. Angron was apparently furious that some had escaped and landed with, we think, about fifty companies of his World Eaters. According to Sedreth, Mortarion's ego could not accept that, so he landed too. The Lord Commander of the Emperor's Children, one Eidolon, likewise felt obliged to join the action, and Horus was effectively forced to follow suit. It became a ground war which cost the traitors nearly sixty thousand marines."

"And where was Sedreth during all this?"

"With his Primarch, talking to the Iron Hands. They had to fight their way out after Ferrus Mannus refused to join Horus. By the time they got back to Isstvan it was over." The girl's voice was soft but clear.

Dante looked at the pair and nodded slowly. "If this is the true list of the Emperor's loyal astartes, they deserve to be remembered. I would see the evidence you have, first, however."

The girl's smile lit the room. Tarken nodded, with a slight smile of her own. "Of course, Lord Commander."

Dante turned and looked along the long aisle of alcoves and banners. "This is where the Fallen are remembered?"

"Yes, Lord Commander. Every astartes of the 79th century who fell in the Great Crusade is named here, as are the astartes of companion Legions who died beside them."

"Three thousand and sixty-four, according to brother-captain Esceriel."

The girl nodded. "Yes, Lord Commander. And my daddy."

"Your father?"

She led him towards a small plaque near the front. "He was in the Guard. His unit was attacked by Night Lords. Daddy was on sentry duty."

Dante looked at the plaque. Just a name and dates. "Smitsen?"

She nodded. "The nasty lady from the Sisters was going to arrest us, so Mr Morgan sent us to the ship, and we changed our name so she wouldn't find us again."

He looked at her for a long second.

Esceriel cleared his throat. "Lord Commander, if I may? The portrait you wished to see?"

He followed his captain to the huge painted canvas. "By the Throne! It is..immense."

Tarken gave him a brief smile. "Sedreth tells us it is a good likeness, and I have to agree."

"Agree? How would you know?"

She smiled more broadly. "Evidence, Lord Commander. If you would care to come with me?"

Bemused, Dante indicated she should lead. How could she know what the Angel truly looked like?

She took them up to the bridge and knelt by the name-plate, placing a hand on it. "What is your duty?"

"Service to the emperor's will." The girl, a soft smile on her face. They knew the catechism?

"What is the Emperor's will?"

"That we fight and die." More than just the girl; the reflex of centuries had the Blood Angels responding.

"What is death?"

"Death is our duty." There was a soft click and the name-plate rose a centimetre or so. Tarken lifted it gently and removed a small purple and gold cloth, carefully folded around something.

A dataspool. She fed it in, then turned.

"With your permission, the rest of your astartes might wish to see this also. Though it is not entirely comfortable viewing."

Dante looked at Mephiston, who nodded. "I sense no deception here, Lord Commander."

He nodded his approval and the screen came to life. A man, a sergeant-astartes, in Emperor's Children armour. He listened, appalled, at the words that proved betrayal. Then the list, long long rolls of names, ordered by unit. He saw suspiciously bright eyes amongst his escort.

And then, the Emperor. The Angel Himself.

"Who are the others?" He didn't have to say which others.

"Fulgrim, Magnus the Red, and Horus Lupercal. The ship was dedicated nearly a hundred years before the Heresy."

He nodded silently, watching the Emperor walk and talk and laugh. He was kneeling without any volition of his own. My Emperor. My Primarch. When the massed ranks of Emperor's Children marines bellowed the catechism he felt a tear running down his cheek.

Eventually, it ended. Dante slowly rose to his feet and watched the last message of a dead man. _You will be avenged, brother. My word on it._

He reached for the vid link and spoke into the pick-up to address his marines. "Brothers, today we have seen our Emperor as He was. Never forget it. Never forget either that He is as He is today because of the traitor heretics. We have fought for ten thousand years in the Primarch's name and the Emperor's. We still do. But now we have been given yet another reason. Those brave warriors who died, betrayed by their Primarchs, their own genefathers, demand vengeance. We shall give them vengeance. If it takes another ten thousand years, we shall visit vengeance on their betrayers. In the Emperor's Glorious Name."

The answering roars came through the pick-up like a thunderstorm.

Tarken took the dataspool and rewrapped it reverently. She knelt by the ships' name-plate and carefully re-inserted it in its place. The golden plate sealed with a click.

"There's a copy in the files, if you want to take one. But the original stays here."

None disagreed. Dante himself looked at her and wondered. This woman and her child had, alone amongst all the uncounted millions of humanity, seen the Emperor as He had been. No wonder they both spoke of Him as a beloved patriarch. There were a lot of questions to be asked of Morgan Sedreth.

"Captain, you companion remains gravely ill. It will be, at best, some months before he is fully recovered. I regret that you are obliged to remain at Baal for a time."

She nodded. "By your command, Lord Commander. I'm sure we can find something to occupy ourselves until Sedreth is better."

He nodded, satisfied but still troubled. "My apothecaries inform me that Morgan Sedreth will be bedridden for another three weeks or so, although he is occasionally conscious. He is very weak, however, and he is not to receive visitors for a while. I shall arrange accommodation for the two of you in guest quarters. In light of captain Esceriel's report, we will ensure you have access to training areas. Naturally you will retain access to your vessel at all times. Our techmarines, however, will require access to understand how the ship was automated so completely."

"You are very generous, Lord Commander. We are honoured to accept."

* * *

Sedreth woke slowly and painfully, as he'd done for too long. This time, though, he remained conscious. The medical servitor immediately, as it had for several days, it must be, bustled over to run various diagnostics. Well, he assumed they were diagnostics anyway. After a few moments a black-clad apothecary walked up to check the servitor's displays. The man looked down at him.

"How's the chest, marine?"

He winced as he answered. "Painful."

"Good. Painful means the pectoral nerves are healing. Strange as it might seem, astartes, you are going to survive and heal back to full fitness." The man grinned briefly. "You'll have a hell of a scar to show recruits though."

Sedreth managed a weak smile. There would be no recruits; the Legion, the real Legion not the chaos one, had no geneseed. His own implants had been removed by Fabius Bile forty centuries ago, and it wasn't as if there were thousands of Emperor's Children astartes with untainted geneseed out there, even if he'd be stupid enough to take the implants from the followers of Slaanesh in the first place. And he doubted Fabius, in the unlikely event they met again, would be willing to part with any of his own store – assuming he still had one.

"How long am I stuck here?"

The apothecary smiled slightly. "You're healing well. Another couple of weeks and you'll be able to stand. After that it's up to you how quickly you get back to full combat fitness."

Two more weeks. "How long have I been here?"

"Seven weeks. Plus the transit time back to Baal. Call it three months."

"Three months?"

The man gave him the familiar look of medical personnel faced with formerly active but bedridden patients. "Marine, you should be dead. I've never seen anyone come that close to death and not end up in a dreadnought. Your armour's irreparable, and you almost were too. So rest, and let your body recover."

"Thank you. Why are you healing me?"

"Orders from the Lord Commander. He wants to talk to you. And you saved the lives of Blood Angels, Morgan Sedreth. Whatever you may have done in the past, that at least deserves the chance to heal and explain yourself."

Sedreth nodded weakly. "I understand. I shall sleep now." He closed his eyes and let the darkness of sleep claim him again. The apothecary moved away to check on his other patients.

"How is our guest?"

"He will recover, brother-captain. Though it will be weeks before he can stand unaided and months before he is fit to dress for battle."

"How long before he can hold a conversation?"

"A couple of days, no more."

"Good. Keep me informed."

"By your command, brother-captain."

* * *

"Oof!" The scout grunted as he landed on his face, but rolled out of the follow-up fast and was back on his feet quickly, a warier expression on his face, the blood trickle from his broken nose almost instantly staunched by the astartes clotting agents. Sara silently cursed. He wouldn't underestimate her again. She moved in for a second attack, choosing a pattern Sedreth said had been going out of fashion before the Rebellion. The man blocked swiftly, one, two, three, and threw the expected response; she tugged his wrist and kicked him in the ribcage, but he managed to twist his arm and grab her in turn, ignoring the impact. She dropped, scissoring his legs, and he fell on top of her, driving an elbow painfully into her gut, but her free hand was under his chin, fingers at his throat.

"Match. Brother Adris, your elbow strike is incorrectly placed. She is only crippled. See where her hand is? You are dead. The strike would tear your throat out." Sergeant Reterius' face was grim. He turned to face the scout squads. "What was Adris' error? Anyone?"

A marine stepped forward. "He underestimated his opponent, brother-sergeant."

Reterius shook his head. "He did, but that was not his only error. Anyone else?"

A second scout marine stepped forward. "He forgot to take advantage of his physical attributes, sergeant. He had the advantage of reach and power, and forgive me, sera, but you are not astartes, likely stamina as well. He should have been more cautious than to let sera Tarken close when he did not know her abilities. Keeping her at range for a few passes would have given him the opportunity to spot any weakness."

Reterius nodded. "Good, Garel. A cogent analysis. Let's see if you can fight as well as you analyse others."

The young marine stepped onto the mat and took position. Sara stepped to guard. Keep her at a distance would he? There were problems with that approach. 'You can run, my friend, but you can't hide,' she thought, smiling at her opponent. Damn, her stomach hurt.

Sandros watched as Reterius put the scouts through their paces. A clever idea to have them fight the woman; none of them had seen her before and they did not give her the respect an unknown opponent was due. That was a mistake that had been the end of too many promising young astartes. Adris would not forget the lesson. Nor, he suspected as Garel landed on his back with an audible impact, would any of the others.

"Not bad, Garel. However, as I trust you have all noted, reach and power are not everything. Sera, that was a neat trick. Thank you for your assistance."

"An honour, brother-sergeant." She bowed formally and walked back to the dressing room she'd been allocated. Brother-captain Sandros moved to intercept, and she paused, waiting for him.

"An interesting demonstration. I have not seen the sequence you used against scout Adris before."

She nodded. "Sedreth told me that it was going out of fashion even before the Heresy. It is very difficult in armour; the suit tends to keep your centre of gravity too high."

He thought for a second, thinking it through. "I can see that it might. A useful sequence to know though, if only to defend against it. Adris was pulled right into a dangerous strike."

"Yes. That is the intention. If you don't try and follow the opening, it's defensible, but there is a secondary sequence which flows from it which can gain an attacker great advantage, if you're good enough."

"And Sedreth is good enough."

She smiled slightly, walking alongside him. "Sedreth is probably as good as anyone you'll ever have the misfortune to meet. He's been fighting for a hundred centuries after all."

"It goes against the grain to agree with that, sera. But you are correct. Brother-sergeant Quinn said he'd never seen anyone fight like he did."

"Sergeant Quinn is very generous. He and his Terminators are a credit to the very ideals of astartes. If you'll forgive me for saying so. It is a tremendous honour to have been allowed to walk amongst the Blood Angels. Janey and I will remember it always."

Sandros smiled in his turn, a polite smile, formal and only barely touching his single human eye. "You may have further such opportunity. The Lord Commander might decide to keep your ship for our own battle-fleet."

She shook her head. "He will not. We have something to do, although I do not know yet what it is. It will cost Sedreth his life though."

"Does that disturb you?"

"Yes. But I think he will be pleased to die for his Emperor. He regrets very much having been told off as his Primarch's honour squad."

"Oh?" Sandros, unlike others, had not heard this before.

"Yes. Had he and his brothers not been, they probably would have dropped with the Betrayed, and died clean. Instead..." she shrugged, a sad lift of the shoulder. "Well, you know."

"Indeed."

She tilted her head slightly, almost amused. "You are not convinced."

"No. Nor are you."

"No. Morgan followed his Primarch into damnation. He saw his genefather lose his very soul to a daemon's possession and instead of turning from the same path he embraced it in despair. He became one of the most dangerous killers in a Legion of thirty thousand expert, depraved, and sadistic killers. Does he regret it? Oh, yes. Deeply and sincerely. Do I acquit him for his misdeeds because of that regret? No. I cannot. I like him. I truly believe he cares deeply for both myself and my daughter, but I cannot forget who and what he was." She smiled suddenly. "And do you know something? Neither can he."

Sandros nodded thoughtfully. "You think he intended to die on the hulk?"

She stopped and hesitated for a long moment. "No. But I think he was prepared to. Whether he expects to die or not, Sedreth will not go quietly from the galaxy, but with sword and bolter in his hand and a battle-cry on his lips. It is what he is; he could no more surrender or give up in combat than you could. Than any astartes could. You might retreat if absolutely forced to, or for tactical advantage, but you could no more give up than you could fly unaided."

Sandros' scarred face flickered into a tiny smile, this time genuine amusement. "Is that how you read us?"

"Is it not true?" she countered. "The space marines are a tiny fraction of a fraction of all the millions of warriors under arms in the galaxy. Yet you are feared, or amongst species which know no fear, respected, far beyond your numbers, far beyond any other military force. That is not merely a function of good martial skills. I suppose it is difficult for you to comprehend, but I am not so long removed from the ordinary citizens of the Imperium that I do not. The very names of the Chapters are words of awe, as even an army does not awe. How many times has a single squad of space marines fought alongside entire regiments, even armies, of the Imperial Guard and rallied them from impossible odds? You are worthy of your legends, Blood Angel, worthy of every single one of them."

Sandros looked at her, unused to the praise. She grinned. "And I shall always remember the day I beat a Blood Angel in a match."

He couldn't help himself. He had to laugh, for all that it might destroy a long-earned reputation. "You think you beat a Blood Angel, captain Tarken? I tell you truth, a space marine scout is only the shadow of the astartes he will one day become. Would you care to try a real Blood Angel?"

She laughed too. "Is that a challenge, brother-captain? Then I accept. Blades?"

Sandros nodded. "Blades and full armour, captain, if you will."

"Very well, brother-captain. Half an hour? I shall have to fetch my armour from my ship."

"I shall send an escort for you in twenty minutes, captain."

She inclined her head and smiled again. "Twenty minutes, brother-captain."

* * *

'Oh, Sara, what have you got yourself into now?' she thought as another flashing attack whipped millimetres past her visor. Sandros was clearly not holding back very much if at all, and she could tell she was outclassed against the assault marine captain. She tongued the adrenal boost up a notch; maybe she might be able to match him for a while.

Sandros felt the familiar pull of combat as another of his attacks was parried. The riposte would have disembowelled a lesser warrior and he grinned inwardly as he realised she was going all out – from necessity rather than any desire to injure him. She was good, but not as good, or as experienced, as he was, not to mention her physical disadvantages. He saw an opening and smashed his chainsword onto her shoulder-plate with a clash of sparks.

She leapt back and saluted the contact, coming en garde again. Fair enough; in armour it wasn't any sort of crippling blow. He moved in again, this time to be parried hard enough that he felt the shock right to his gut. He blade went fractionally wide and her swift follow-up drew a screech against his hastily turned hip. He swung hard and she rolled under the blow, diving into him and bringing them both down. Clever bitch; he thrust upwards with his knees and sent her past him in a clatter of power armour. Both of them rolled upwards and came back to face each other.

Dante watched from the observation balcony. The woman was good. She used her mind in combat to counter the disadvantages of facing a space marine. Still, Sandros was better; a second impact on her armour, then a third and a fourth glancing blow before a blinding riposte slammed into his left arm with a brutal crack. The assault marine jumped back and pulled her in for a follow-up; her strike was clearly faster than he'd expected and it and his return connected simultaneously.

"Match." Esceriel's voice was clear. And the two stepped apart. They both took off their helmets: Sandros barely looked warmed up; Tarken was sweating freely, her hair plastered to her forehead despite the armour's cooling systems. It had clearly taken everything she had just to lose without being humiliated. Still, it was an impressive performance; Sandros had not made assault marine captain by chance.

Sara looked up at the towering assault marine. "I am glad I am not an enemy, brother-captain. I would not want to face you if you were going full out."

Sandros nodded politely. "You are very skilled, captain. Brother-captain Esceriel did not overstate your abilities." He had no intention of letting her, or anyone else, realise how little he had been holding back.

She smiled slightly and bowed briefly. "My abilities, such as they are, clearly do not match the Ninth astartes. It is much easier to understand a hundred centuries of unbroken victory now that I have had the honour of facing a Blood Angel."

Sandros bowed slightly in his turn. "Does that satisfy the demands of politeness, captain?"

She grinned as they stepped away from the practice cages. "I hope so. The bruises you've left will, anyway. I will be sore for many days."

He took her forearm in the warrior's grip, a rare honour indeed for any non-astartes. "You broke my forearm."

"My apologies; I did not expect you to parry with it."

"Indeed. The parry, though, gave me an opening. In real combat it would have killed you."

"Several times, I think. Might I have a copy of the vid record?"

"Of course. A warrior should always keep learning."

Neither of them noticed the Lord Commander walk quietly away.

* * *

Marneus Calgar was not the sort of man who received personal calls often. Not, given that he was the Lord Commander of the legendary Ultramarines Chapter Astartes, that he had many friends who might place personal calls in the first place. So it was with a certain sense of anticipation that he accepted the coded person-to-person call from the other side of the galaxy.

Lord Commander Dante, at over ten centuries the oldest living astartes Chapter head, was a galaxy-wide legend on the same level as Calgar himself. But even for a Lord Commander, a person-to-person real-time call was an exceptional use of resources. Whatever it was had to be important.

"Dante, old friend. It is good to see your face again. The Emperor's Grace on you."

"Hello, Calgar. I see He still keeps you safe in His service. I have a report for you which I'd rather not courier. This transmission is as secure as I can make it. Can you receive?"

Calgar nodded and pressed the control to accept the coded burst transmission and glanced at its header. "I presume that there is more? You would not call me halfway across the galaxy for a combat report, even one on a space hulk encounter."

The gold-armoured Blood Angel gave a savage grin. "You're still too damned smart for your own good. Yes, there is something else. What do you know about a rogue trader named Tarken?"

"Oh. That."

"Yes. That. You let an Emperor's Children space marine loose, Marneus. What in the Emperor's name possessed you?"

Calgar nodded grimly. "I was not possessed, old friend. I was ordered."

"Ordered? By whom? Come on, Marneus, quit beating about. This call is expensive. There is no-one who has the authority to order you on this sort of thing."

"Not, precisely, accurate. Lord Guilleman could. So could his father."

Dante blinked at him. "What?"

"The Emperor Himself gave the order. You have heard of the 'Miracle' here four and a half years ago?"

"Yeees." Dante's tone was questioning. "Something about the Throne of the Primarch shining and a child's prayer being answered? Since you didn't officially report it, I discounted it."

"I didn't report it because it was real. You've met the Child."

"The Child? The girl? Tarken's daughter had a prayer answered by the Emperor _in person_?"

Calgar nodded silently. "There's more, not generally reported. The Emperor spoke through all the Chapter's librarians at once. And He raised a dead man."

A short silence.

"You're serious, aren't you?"

"Very. If you ever run into brother-captain Abdiel of the Black Templars, you can ask him how it felt. He was the dead man in question."

"You're certain he was dead?"

"Oh, yes. He had a hole in his chest you could drop a bolter into, courtesy of a tyranid carnifex. He was very very dead. Two of my marines were standing vigil and they saw the hole heal, leaving just a scar, then he woke up."

"You're sure it wasn't some sort of chaos trick?"

"I'm sure. The Astronomicon burned brighter than it has in centuries; I presume you noticed."

Dante grimaced. "We noticed. My astropaths and Librarians thought it was the Emperor sending a warning against the tyranid hive fleets."

Calgar smiled slowly. "He did. Then He sent us. We annihilated a spur of hive fleet Behemoth. I think the tyranids noticed."

"Good. Let them know fear." He paused, then went on. "Back to Tarken and Sedreth, though. Am I to conclude that they're not your agents then?"

"No. If anything, they're the Emperor's agents. How did you meet them?"

"They reported that hulk. The marine Sedreth almost got himself killed teleporting aboard with additional weapons and ammunition for some of my Terminators who'd been cut off. He went hand-to-hand with 'stealers in Mark IV plate."

Calgar's eyebrows rose. "He should be dead."

"He should be. But he's not. And there's another thing. His... pinion."

"I saw it. It's real then? I didn't contact you in case it wasn't."

"It's real. It sings to us, Marneus. Sings to the Blood Angels. Of war and death and love and honour. Did you see their chapel?"

"No. I was told it was quite dusty, as if unused for a long time, then seemed to re-light itself when Abdiel was healed."

"Yes, well, that means you didn't see the plaque. They found the drop lists, Calgar. The names of every space marine virus-bombed from orbit at the beginning of the Heresy. Thirty-seven thousand loyal astartes. I appended it to the report you have. I want your support on adding them to the official lists of Imperial Martyrs, Marneus. They fought to the last man."

"You have it, old friend. No question."

"Do you know what this mysterious 'task' is they're supposed to do?"

"No. But it's important enough that the Emperor in person commanded it done."

Dante sighed. "Very well. Thanks, Marneus. His Grace and Light on you and your Ultramarines."

"May His Strength and Wisdom be with the Blood Angels, Dante. Ask the girl what her prayer was. Good hunting, old friend."

"And to you. Take care of yourself, whelp." Dante grinned suddenly, looking centuries younger. "Dante out." He cut the connection.

Calgar looked at the vid. 'Whelp' indeed. He chuckled, relieved that Dante's sardonic humour remained intact. He ran the report, watching it carefully and sitting in silence long after the list of dead names had scrolled past. Then he pressed the comms unit. "Mikel, can you have the chaplains assemble in the main chapel? I shall meet them there."

* * *

Janey was at her exercises in _Phoenix_'s practice room. Brother-sergeant Quinn and his squad were with her today. She liked them. They were sort of quiet and confident, which reminded her of Mr Morgan. She'd been allowed to see him yesterday, but he'd been asleep. It was nice to know he was getting better though.

She took three running steps and flipped into a series of flic-flacs that took her across the mat, then rolled to her feet and down again into an unsupported handstand, holding it for a count of five. Then she slowly lowered herself, keeping her body and legs vertical until her arms were bent at a right angle and her forehead almost touched the mat. Then up again. Then down again, repeating the vertical press-up, then three more, by which point her arms were trembling. She lowered her legs into a pike, then shoved backwards and landed on her feet, giving the watching marines a quick grin before launching herself at the obstacle course Mr Morgan had set up for him and mummy to train on. It was quite hard, 'cos the obstacles were all grown-up sized, but it was fun too.

Quinn watched the girl as she assaulted – there was no other word for such a display of energy and enthusiasm – the obstacles. She was clearly in superlative physical condition, and used to pushing her still-developing physique to a much greater degree than most children. Or most adults for that matter. Not that he could not do better; he could, much. But he was an enhanced superhuman who had trained every day of his life for nigh on two hundred years, not a ten-year-old – eleven-year-old, it had been her birthday last month – child.

He glanced at the other members of the squad; they were watching as closely as he was. She was exceptionally agile and used her agility well.

A movement caught his eye on the observation balcony and he glanced upwards to see a tall man watching, leaning heavily on a pair of crutches. It took him a second or so to recognise the still drawn features of Morgan Sedreth, looking very much the worse for wear. He met the man's eye briefly and nodded. The girl, dodging automatic blows and thrusts, ran swiftly along a rail and vaulted to the ground, slipping a suddenly out-thrust spike with almost casual ease and driving the heel of her hand into the target marker. The machine switched off. She turned and grinned, triumphant, then spotted the big space marine. With a squeal of joy she vaulted up onto the obstacles, and then the top of the machine, before leaping to the balcony rail and running full-tilt along it, throwing herself at the big man.

"Mr Morgan! You're better."

He caught her one-armed, a strangely gentle look in his care-worn eyes. Quinn realised abruptly that the man was devoted to the child. It was almost shocking to realise that an astartes could be devoted to anything but the Emperor; the Lord of Mankind was the fulcrum of Quinn's existence, and of all of his brothers and all the other space marines he had fought alongside. He met his brothers' eyes and indicated with his head that they should leave the two to get reacquainted. The Blood Angels slipped quietly out of the practice room.

* * *

"Come in, sera." Lord Commander Dante's voice was soft. The room was deep in the fortress-monastery of the Blood Angels; Janey wasn't sure she could find her way out again without sergeant Deneth to guide her. She walked in hesitantly. The stone-flagged floor bore a huge winged teardrop picked out in red and black stone – the legendary symbol of the Blood Angels, but slightly different, less stylised. Older, she realised. From the high vaulted ceiling hung a dozen banners, stained and torn but unfaded and bright still. The walls were panelled in wood, dark and deep with the polish of thousands of years.

Dante stood in front of a fireplace, huge and age-blackened, its marble inlays patterned like the dappled wings of the Lord Sanguinius in the picture in the chapel. He gestured easily to a huge chair – sized for space marines – with carved decorations and time-worn gilts.

"Please, take a seat." He smiled slightly; it looked sort of wrong. The Lord Commander of the Blood Angels didn't smile much. He seated himself opposite her, in a similar chair, and leaned back.

"Do you know where you are?"

She shook her head nervously.

"This is my private audience chamber. Every Lord Commander has used the same rooms I do; all conversations are automatically recorded and stored to archives. Normally, no non-astartes is allowed here." He paused to let her think for a second or so. "So you are no doubt wondering why you are here."

She nodded, wondering what she might have done.

"I spoke with Lord Commander Calgar a few days ago. He spoke about the Emperor."

She nodded again, though she'd not spoken with Lord Calgar. She would have definitely remembered that.

"Sera, what did you pray for that the Lord of Mankind would answer you?"

She flushed. "Uhm. For His son."

The dark eyes demanded more and she hesitated then went on. "'Cos Mr Morgan told me and mummy how he'd seen him, when he killed Ferrus Manus. How he'd reversed his sword to kill himself then stopped, like he heard someone's voice. Then he sort of gave up, an' then the daemon took him. Mr Morgan tol' us how he saw pure evil look out from his Primarch's eyes. An' it's had him for ten thousand years. An' I thought, no-one deserves that, no matter what they did. Maybe the Emperor would forgive him, or maybe help him somehow. So I prayed for the soul of His son, Fulgrim."

The Lord Commander sat silently for a few seconds; she couldn't tell if he was angry or what. Finally he spoke again. "And what happened?"

Janey thought back to that day. "He heard. All the bells started ringing, and the shrine we were at started to shine, bright bright blue an' sort-of white at the same time. An', and, the Emperor spoke in my mind. I'll never forget it. He said, _'Cease! Marneus Calgar, in thou am I well pleased. Thou shalt lead My Ultramarines into battle on Caltenis, and thou shalt be Triumphant. Morgan Sedreth, thy task is not yet ended. Thy penance shall be great and thy life the cost of it, yet am I merciful. Thou shalt abide here until My fleet does return Victorious. Ready thyself, for I shall test thee and thine. Know, My Ultramarines, that though he now sleeps, My Son Robouté shalt restored be to Me. AND THE CHILD'S PRAYER IS ANSWER__ÉD!'_ And I could see all the world, then all the worlds, all covered in little fires, all different colours, all across the galaxy and all the stars moving and then I sort of moved to look at just one light far far away. It was all soft and nearly gone out and sort of wrapped in a sort of horrid purpley-blue. And Mr Morgan was crying inside and he said 'My Primarch', and he loved him so much. And the Emperor, He shone so bright, like a huge column of fire across the universe, and that little dying light suddenly got stronger, huge and bright and sort of defiant again."

Dante looked at her with a strange expression. Then he spoke again. "Thank you for telling me, sera. You have given me much to think about."

She managed a smile. "Sorry, Lord Commander."

"There is nothing to apologise for, sera. I serve the Emperor in all things. He has tasked you, and Morgan Sedreth, and your mother. The Emperor's rule is iron to the Blood Angels, as it is for all loyal astartes. There is one thing I would ask of you, however."

She looked up at his grim still-handsome face. The Blood Angels tended to be handsome, she thought. "What is it?"

"Sedreth wears the pinion of our Primarch on his armour. My Librarians say he – and you – will need its protection. But, when you have done whatever it is you must do, will you return it to us?"

She nodded. "Yes. If any of us live through, whatever it is, we'll bring it back to you."

He smiled. A more real-looking smile than the earlier one. He pressed a gold button on his chair. "Deneth, is captain Tarken here yet?"

"_Lord Commander, she approaches now, with brother-captains Esceriel and Matthias, tech-captain Vivane and Lord Librarian Mephiston."_

"Show them in, and ensure we are not disturbed."

"_By your command, Lord Commander."_

A few moments later there was a brief knock, and Deneth showed in mummy and the four Blood Angels. They were all in full armour, even mummy. Only she and Lord Commander Dante were not wearing battle-gear. Janey tried hard not to stare at tech-captain Vivane, whose armour had all sorts of extra limbs and tentacle-y probe things on it. The man also had an artifical eye and hand. He caught her eye and nodded politely. "Sera."

"Hello, brother-tech-captain. It's an honour to meet you."

His voice was a bit raspy, and she realised he had a vodor in his throat. "I am likewise pleased to meet you at last, sera. I have heard much about you. You mother informed me that you fitted her armour by hand?"

She nodded. "I've got the smallest fingers, so Mr Morgan told me what to do to make all the adjustments."

"Indeed. A good job, sera. Captain Tarken was good enough to allow me to examine her suit. It is a remarkable creation. An adaptation of Mks IV and VI armour is it not?"

"Yes, sir. Me and Mr Morgan worked on it for a long time, "

"Ahem." Lord Commander Dante cleared his throat. "Fascinating as the subject is, perhaps it can wait?"

She blushed and nodded, ducking her head in embarrassment. Esceriel chuckled.

"You don't change, Vivane."

The techmarine replied with a faint twinkle in his eye. "And you want me to, old friend? My apologies, Lord Commander."

Lord Dante was pouring goblets of some dark red liquid. "Have you completed your work, Vivane?"

"Yes, Lord Commander. We have been able to complete everything. The vessel is fully munitioned and we have been able to find sufficient focussing crystals to bring her lances up to full power."

"And the other?"

"That too, Lord Commander. Captain Tarken has been most helpful in allowing my techmarines access to the armoury. All the repairs have been made." He smiled grimly. "All we need now is a company of Morgan Sedreths to wear them."

Mummy shook her head. "There will be none. Morgan has no geneseed. And I don't think he wants to recruit new space marines anyway. It's not what we have to do."

"What do you have to do?" asked Matthias curiously.

"I don't know. We'll know when we do it, I suppose. The Emperor will guide us as He wills."

"Well said, captain," said Lord Mephiston. "The Emperor moves as He designs."

Lord Dante nodded and handed round the filled goblets. Janey was given one too, with only a small amount in it. She sniffed despite herself; it smelled funny.

"It is a tradition, amongst the Blood Angels to toast the success of any truly dangerous enterprise. Thus we toasted the success of our recent destruction of the space hulk you found, and asked the Angel's blessing on our efforts. Captain, you and your daughter are about to embark on a mission for the Emperor Himself, trusting to His protection in the warp, and to the loyalty of a marine who fell from his loyalty once before." He held up a strong hand. "No, I know you believe in Morgan Sedreth's honour and loyalty. But it does no harm to ask for the Primarch's guidance and strength."

He raised his glass and spoke formally. "Lord Primarch, father of us all, we pray that you look down upon these allies of your lineage and lend them your strength and wisdom as they carry out the task our Emperor has assigned them." He drank from the glittering crystal.

One by one the others drank too. Janey lifted her glass and swallowed the dark crimson stuff. It tasted funny too. Abruptly the room was gone and she felt a warm light. A whisper of feathers sounded in her ears and she felt something – someone – touch her face with gentle fingers. Then she was back in the room, blinking. Mummy was on the floor and she jumped out of her chair. Captain Esceriel caught her.

"Be easy, child. She is unharmed."

Sure enough, mummy was standing up, looking shaken. She was shivering, and holding her chest. "His claws. I can still feel them in my chest."

Lord Mephiston looked suddenly worried. "What do you remember, captain?"

"A sword. I had a crimson sword, slick with black blood. And he was all in black, Terminator armour with lightning claws. I couldn't hurt him no matter how hard I hit him. I felt my wings break." Her voice seemed to change, to become deeper even than Mr Morgan's, full of sorrow and pain and achingly beautiful. "Oh, my poor brother, how could you be so blind?" Captain Matthias was flung away as mummy came to her feet and swung at someone only she could see. "Horus! This is not you! Horus!" Mummy roared, a huge sound that couldn't possibly come from a woman's throat, then lunged, as if she held a sword. Then she bellowed in pain, fell again and lay still. Janey struggled futilely against Esceriel's strong grasp.

Lord Mephiston knelt beside mummy. He touched her head and looked up slowly. "It was a true vision. She shared it all." His eyes were dark, like they'd changed colour. He looked at her; there was something funny about that look.

"What happened?" she asked. "Why did mummy fight?"

"The wine contains a tiny fraction of the blood of the Primarch. Just one drop in the entire making of it. It appears to have affected your mother as ,.." He paused and looked at Lord Dante who nodded permission. "Sometimes, on the eve of battle, our ancestry speaks to us, to the Blood Angels, and we share our Primarch's last moments. Blood Angels who do that go berserk with rage and are placed in a special unit, so that they can fight and die honourably in battle rather than have to be restrained for their own and others' safety. Those few that survive the battle tend to go insane. I am sorry."

He turned back to mummy, a glow rising in his Librarian's hood.

Mummy's eyes opened with a groan and she slowly sat up, shaking her head. "I am not insane, Lord Mephiston. But I am truly sorry for your loss. And I think I broke my hand." She smiled slowly at her, and Janey ran into a hug. She was still mummy. They both looked round at the huge men.

Lord Mephiston reached out and touched mummy's temple again. Then nodded, like he was satisfied. "You are most fortunate, captain. Were you one of us, you would probably be unable to distinguish the vision from reality right now."

Mummy nodded. "I shall not forget it."

"Lord Dante," said Janey. "I saw something too. A bright light, and a whisper of wings. He loves his Blood Angels." She didn't have to say who 'he' was.

Matthias suddenly chuckled, breaking the tension. "Well, at least now we know why the wine is never given to ordinary citizens." He grinned. "You hit hard, captain Tarken. I shall bear the bruises for a small while I think."

Esceriel smiled briefly. "She had the strength of the Primarch, in part, brother. If it wasn't for that armour you would have more than bruises."

"And here was me thinking I was getting soft."

"The day you get soft, Matthias, I shall retire and hand over command of the chapter to a civilian." Lord Dante's deep voice held amusement. He looked at mummy. "I did not realise you would be so affected, captain. My apologies."

Mummy suddenly smiled, a very serious, very genuine smile. "Lord Commander, I am honoured above any woman I can think of. Neither myself nor Janey shall ever speak of this, but if we can ever assist the Angel's sons, in any way, you have but to ask."

Janey wondered how on earth the two or them – three with Mr Morgan – could possibly do anything a whole Chapter of space marines – of Blood Angels – couldn't do, but stayed quiet and nodded. Lord Commander Dante nodded seriously. "We shall remember that, captain. But it is time to say farewell. You will be putting out tomorrow."

"By your command, Lord Dante," said mummy. Captain Esceriel showed them both to the door, where sergeant Deneth waited.


	19. Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Eighteen

Sedreth walked up the open ramp with apothecary Justinian. Back on his ship. It felt good to be home. Justinian and his colleagues had done their best for him and he had to admit a certain level of surprise; he had half-expected summary execution once they realised who he was, and he had seriously doubted that the Emperor would intervene on his behalf again. Still, _Phoenix_ looked good.

She looked equally good once he was inside, the familiar corridors gleaming. Someone had replaced the aquilas in the main processional. He smiled to himself, admitting that it looked right.

The two of them walked towards the lift and found Janey, talking with a big Blood Angels Terminator who looked vaguely familiar. They turned at the approach and Janey ran to him, smiling.

"Hi, Mr Morgan. What do you think?" She gestured the length of the processional.

"I like it. It's how she used to look."

Janey's smile got wider. She turned to the big Terminator, who Sedreth noted had an artificial arm, his left, from the elbow. "Mr Morgan, this is brother-astartes Rachiel."

The man inclined his head and offered a wrist to wrist grip. "You fight well, Morgan Sedreth."

"You were the Terminator who held our right flank from the 'stealers. You had lightning claws," he said, accepting the warriors' handshake.

Rachiel nodded. "I am obliged to re-train. Brother-captain Matthias says that I will have to settle for Thunder Hammer and Storm Shield; my new arm will not allow me to fight with lightning claws to the standard required for the First Company. Still, brother-sergeant Falco swears by the combination; he has me working out daily." He grimaced. "It was that or an assault cannon and I always preferred close combat."

"I noticed," replied Sedreth drily. "Your armour looks good though. I am surprised that even Terminator armour stood up to that number of 'stealers."

A voice came from behind him. "It nearly didn't. We had to rebuild more Terminator suits than we have in centuries. But the menace was destroyed utterly, and valuable information gained."

He turned to see Quinn and Falco with their surviving squad-mates. Falco smiled briefly. "We thought a formal introduction was a good idea. Falco, sergeant, First Company, Blood Angels. You've met brother-astartes Rachiel already. And I'm sure you recognise brother-astartes Vatiel."

The Blood Angels were all slightly shorter than he, he noticed, shaking hands with the sergeant and heavy weapons Terminator.

"We owe you our lives, Morgan Sedreth," said Quinn, after introducing his own squad survivors, Mercier and Desial.

He shook his head. "You owe me nothing. Without the Blood Angels, in fact without the personal intervention of _the_ Blood Angel, I would have died a hundred centuries ago on Murder."

Desial looked interested; so did the others. "You actually met the Primarch?"

He nodded. "You know about Murder? I don't know how much your archives tell you, but the whole campaign was a bloody foul-up from the start. First, the intelligence was wrong – as usual." This got several cynical smiles. He went on, "Then of course, because it was supposed to be a cakewalk, neither of the Primarchs were there. So Eidolon was in charge, and he wanted a quick and glorious campaign, so he authorised a wider dispersal than normal. Stupid bastard. The atmospherics caused secondary scattering; the planet had massive electrical storms all the time. So our initial drop, ten centuries of astartes from each Legion, left us too widely scattered for mutual support. Again, the storms prevented any effective orbital support, so we were forced to fight on the ground.

"Which would have been fine, against most opponents. Against the megarachnid, it was a massacre. My own century was hit from all sides within half an hour of landing; about a thousand of the things swarmed our position in the middle of a storm. We couldn't get fire support from above, and we couldn't drop anything to pick us up, and we couldn't hold. The captain, August Martek, ordered us to fight our way out and we cut through to fall back on the nearest unit, which was your 43rd. We lost sixty-two men out of ninety-three fighting our way to the Ninth, only to find that their case wasn't much better than ours."

"They were under attack too?" asked Quinn.

"Yes. Luckily, they'd had a bit more warning than us, and they'd managed to set up their heavy weapons squads properly. So they were just about able to hold their line, and we just filled in the gaps. We held the position for several days, taking casualties, but it looked like we'd be fine, especially when reinforcements dropped, from both Legions. We thought, with more than two hundred space marines, we could hold against almost anything. We thought wrongly. Three days later the middle of the position caved in; the things had tunnelled underneath us and they just boiled out like a flood, hundreds of them. The 43rd's captain, Burrell, had no option; he called down a strike on our position. It was the only chance to seal the hole and prevent us all being wiped out. Our assault squads engaged the new force; they knew the strike was inbound, but it was the only thing they could do to stop us being overrun. Fifty men, dead in half a second. But the strike was precise; someone did a good job. I never found out which ship it was. And the hole was molten rock and we somehow managed to re-form a perimeter.

"Then they came again, and again and again, wearing us down with sheer weight of numbers. We held for three weeks, getting reinforced every so often, but it was never enough. The last day, we knew we were done; there were about two dozen of us left by then, more than half of us wounded. Ammunition was mostly gone and we'd been scavenging from the dead for a week or so. Captain Burrell was dead. Captain Martek too. Our comms were down and it was simply, take as many as you can with you."

The circle of faces were thoughtful, spellbound as they imagined the endless assault.

"I was back to back with Cadris, our flamer marine, although he was using a bolter by then 'cos he was out of promethium – had been for days. I remember Baxter was back to back with a Blood Angel sergeant named Grier about ten yards from us; they swore honour brotherhood on the way up a few weeks later. There was no sort of organisation; we were kind of grouped around the standards which captain Burrell had driven into the rock, trying to support each other as best we could. Basically we were dead; they were massed for another assault, waiting for the storm. That's when they liked to come. And the sky darkened and the rains and lightings started, and they came, hundreds of them, all chittering to each other. We opened up with targeted shots; we'd learned how best to take them down over the weeks; until they were at fifty metres or so, then just let loose with everything we had. Which wasn't enough. They hit our line and it was hand to hand, and against those things that wasn't fun. Even you might not like that, Rachiel. I thought we were all dead, and then he just dropped from the sky, like nothing I'd ever seen. His wings were glowing with static arcs of electricity; he must have dropped straight through a storm that would have destroyed a Thunderhawk. They didn't expect that. Still, it was only one more enemy, they must have thought.

"They were wrong. I fought nearly two hundred years of the Great Crusade, and I'd seen Primarchs in action before, I'd even seen Sanguinius in combat before, but not like that, nor that close to. He was like an avatar of destruction that day, just a whirlwind of power and brutality, where before he'd been clinical and detached. I think that he was genuinely furious; we'd lost hundreds of warriors after all. It was incredible. He smashed his way through their charge leaving a trail of megarachnid corpses and literally pulled marines free of the things. It didn't last long and they broke."

He smiled, remembering. "Anyway, I looked round and it appeared that I was senior – junior sergeant; everyone senior to me was dead – and I came to attention and tried to give a sitrep. He just shrugged and told me not to bother, but to form the survivors up and make sure they were alright; he had to go and help another unit in trouble. So I did that while he flew off and we all looked at each other, and Grier grabbed his company banner, and Cadris grabbed ours, and we all headed off into that jungle in the direction he'd gone. Twenty of us, running full tilt through the trees and plants and killing anything that moved on the way. Eventually, I don't know, not more than a few minutes it must have been, we came out on a clearing and there he was, engaged with something huge, bigger than a carnifex and twice as ugly. We could see banners waving up ahead and the things seemed to have not noticed us, so we formed a proper firing line, then opened up together into their flank. Grier and Baxter had heavy bolters, salvaged from our devastators, and they stood side by side and just annihilated anything within forty metres. The rest of us formed a double wedge and advanced with those two in the middle. A real, disciplined advance, no back to back desperation stuff. Between us and the Angel and the fifty or so marines still holding out, it was a bad day to be a megarachnid. They lost hundreds; the corpses were metres deep."

"When it was over he walked over and his face was like thunder. You don't want a Primarch mad at you, take it from me. But he looked at us for a long time without saying anything, and then he just nodded. And he said, "Good. You honour your brothers and your Legions."

"And he promoted Grier to acting-captain right there and told him to take charge of the Blood Angels left – it was your 60th company and they'd taken sixty-two percent dead including their commander. And he told me to take charge of the surviving Emperor's Children, which I did, about twenty of us, and we all went off, about sixty of us in total, complete with walking wounded, and followed him to the next unit, about ten klicks away, drawing the xenos to us like honey all the way. That was a strong-point, so once we were there we stayed for a few days and were brought back up strength with reinforcements from other units which had taken too many casualties to stay coherent. By that time _Firebird_ had arrived along with Fulgrim and the Phoenix Guard – the elite Terminators of the Legion. He was almost more angry than Sanguinius had been; he tore Eidolon and Vespasian off a strip or several, then the two Primarchs got down to serious business. You can imagine what that was like. One Primarch on his own is nearly unstoppable; two is devastation incarnate, and I mean that quite seriously. The megarachnid had been winning before Sanguinius arrived; within two weeks of the Primarchs getting down and dirty alongside their Legions they were broken. We went in with the final assault; by personal order of both Primarchs the units that had been in the first drop were given the honour of leading it, with both Sanguinius and Fulgrim right there alongside us. We would have followed them anywhere after that." He grimaced. "We did."

There was a long silence, then Mercier spoke. "What happened to your friend, Baxter?"

"He transferred from my squad to one of the century's devastator squads. Dropped and died on Isstvan III. His name's on the memorial plaque in the chapel. Cadris and me were squad-mates for millennia; he died about fifteen years ago."

"And the others you mentioned?"

"Vespasian is dead, killed just before the Heresy. He was a decent commander and an honourable man. I like to think he would have refused to join it."

"And the other one, Eidolon?"

"I'm surprised you don't know the name. Eidolon was Lord Commander of the Children during the Heresy and since; he's one of the scumbags who planned the virus-bombing of Isstvan III with Horus. He's a daemon prince these days. Has a planet of his own somewhere in the Eye. He hated me for receiving this." He touched the pinion round his neck. "And the feeling is entirely mutual; I always despised the arse-licking bastard. I don't know what the Emperor has planned for me, but I'll take a great deal of satisfaction in killing him if I do get the chance."

"Do not lose yourself to hatred," came a soft voice. Chaplain Caliel had come upon them unnoticed. "Hatred without discipline leads to ruin, Sedreth, as you know all to well."

Sedreth nodded. "I know. I don't hate the chaos legions, not the rank and file anyway. They made the same mistake I did; I pity them, really. But the plotters; the ones who made it all happen, Erebus, Kor Phaeron, Eidolon, Typhon, Abaddon, Maloghurst, Khârn, the advisers who led their Primarchs to ruin and their brothers with them..."

"You don't hate the Primarchs themselves?" Desial sounded surprised.

"No, not really. They were caught in a plot of the chaos powers; the plotters I named, they embraced those same powers in secret long before the rebellion happened. They led us all to damnation. And were rewarded for it. I'd take a great deal of pleasure in ending their existences." He gave a cynical chuckle, "Which, let's be honest, is a rather more attainable concept than beating a daemon Primarch anyway."

The Blood Angels looked at each other. It was Caliel who spoke. "A man should always have an attainable dream. I rather doubt that anyone will fault yours." He winked gravely, a slow drop of his left eyelid without any other change of expression.

Janey started to giggle; even the hard-bitten Rachiel smiled.

Caliel smiled briefly. "Anyway, whatever your ambition in regard to killing traitors, Sedreth, you can't do anything about it standing in a corridor. You – and you too, brothers – should be training. Which means, astartes Sedreth, that you should be fitting yourself with a new set of armour, no? I believe the armoury you use is this way?" He turned without waiting for a reply and led them off down the corridor.

Quinn nodded. "The chaplain is correct. Come." He followed the black-armoured chaplain, the rest of them falling in beside him.

Sedreth looked down at Janey as she squeezed his hand. "I missed you, Mr Morgan."

"And I you, Janey. Didn't you manage to repair my armour, then?"

She shook her head. "No. The chest-plate was just scrap and the rest wasn't much better. Even tech-captain Vivane said it was too badly damaged. You'll have to use another suit. But the techmarines can do the proper adjustments, so I don't have to."

He nodded. It was a pity; his armour had been a familiar companion for a hundred centuries, a last connection to the world he'd lost so long ago. He wasn't sure he'd be comfortable wearing the armour of one of his old comrades, but there were some new, unworn, sets. Maybe one of those.

They all followed Caliel into the main armoury, where the unused suits had been. He stopped abruptly.

The place was full; at least two companies of Blood Angels, no, three companies, plus captains and librarians and apothecaries and chaplains. And the Lord Commander in his golden armour. Sara was standing there too, in glorious purple power armour and black cloak, armed and smiling.

A huge Blood Angels banner hung from the ceiling, beside what he recognised in astonishment as the century's battle-standard from the chapel. A tiny warm hand squeezed his, hard, and he looked down.

The small face grinned happily up at him, alight with mischief and anticipation.

There was sudden bark of command and he looked at the Blood Angels again as they slammed to attention. Dante stepped forward.

"Morgan Sedreth, by my authority and with the agreement of Lord Commander Calgar of the Ultramarines and Lord Commander Mattheus of the Black Templars, it is hereby decreed that you are reinstated to active service as an astartes of the Third Legion."

He blinked in shock, but Dante was continuing.

"In light of the fact that your armour was irreparably damaged during action against the space hulk _Heresy of Corruption_ it is the Blood Angels' pleasure and honour to provide you with new armour. Captain Matthias, if you would?"

Matthias stepped forward and pulled aside a large cloth to reveal... he couldn't believe it. Gleaming under the powerful lights was a huge suit of Indomitus-pattern Terminator armour in Legion colours. The left shoulder-plate bore a massive winged talon, the gold and platinum alloy curving out from the armour almost as if it were about to take flight. He managed to walk forward and salute; the traditional martial salute of the astartes legions.

Dante's voice was quiet, but carried clearly. "You have been tasked by the Emperor, astartes-sergeant Sedreth. This will help make sure you survive long enough to succeed in that task." He gestured to the armour. "There is, however, something missing."

Sedreth looked at him, puzzled, for a moment then understood. He took the chain from around his neck and slipped the ruby and feather from it. The pinion attached to the front left corner of the legion shoulder-plate as if it had been there always.

A tech-marine captain stepped forward and touched the right shoulder-plate where the Crux Terminatus was inlaid in stone and jewels. "I am not sure if you know, sergeant, that all Terminator suits, since the Heresy, have contained a fragment of the Emperor's own armour. Thus, all Terminators carry the Emperor Himself into battle with them."

Sedreth nodded. "I was aware of it. I shall carry both the Emperor and the Angel into battle beside me. And the enemies of humanity shall tremble." He smiled slightly, and turned back to Dante.

"Lord Commander, if I may address the Ninth Astartes?"

Dante nodded and he stepped to face the front ranks. "A hundred centuries ago, I fought alongside your brothers on Murder. Then I betrayed all my oaths and loyalties, following my Primarch into damnation. It is an easy step to take, astartes, to follow a beloved commander rather than take the hard choice to do what is right instead of what is expedient. The Blood Angels paid a terrible price for that betrayal, above all other Legions save only the Iron Hands. To lose forever your Primarch, your genefather, is a loss you two lineages alone of the Emperor's loyal astartes know. Yet, this gives you additional protection from the powers of chaos, for they remain in your hearts, steeling you against the ruinous powers that brought about their deaths."

He paused for a moment to let his words sink in, then continued. "Brothers, I was lucky. I got a second chance, to be an astartes again. To serve my Emperor. And I pity my brethren who remain in thrall to chaos. I am the last of the Emperor's Children. For, whether they embraced their new service eagerly or reluctantly, the remaining warriors who call themselves by that name are no children of our Emperor. Those who have fallen from their true allegiance are the enemy of everything you hold dear. Pity them their folly. But do not refrain from killing them; they will show you no mercy.

"I doubt we will meet again in this life. That is not a matter of regret; to die in His service is a relief that I never expected. May the Emperor and the Angel be at your shoulders always, Blood Angels. It was an honour to fight beside you once more."

Dante stepped forward.

"What is your duty?"

The answering roar echoed along corridors until the ship itself seemed to ring as nearly four hundred voices bellowed the catechism. He saw Sara's eyes suspiciously moist as the Blood Angels praised their Emperor.

* * *

Vivane and Esceriel stood watching as the ship swung away. The Third Company captain looked at his brother.

"A Terminator suit?"

Vivane smiled slightly. "It was already there, badly damaged. Actually it was salvaged from the ruins of four Terminator armours, none of which was viable on its own. We gained several spares for our repair manufactories. Not to mention some valuable information on the design of the older armour marks."

"Oh? But we have some of those ourselves."

"Indeed we do. But over the centuries they have been repaired and adjusted many many times. Some of the original suit functions were married to more modern marks, and this was not always as successful as it might have been. We were able to use the, effectively brand-new, sets of armour in their armoury to formulate new standard pattern templates for components. That will extend the life of some hallowed suits of armour by a thousand years or more. And we were able to clear some of our archive inventory of older pattern lance crystals while gaining invaluable design information on that strike destroyer. The automation of its systems borders on genius."

Esceriel smiled at the tech-captain's enthusiasm. He knew the Adeptus Mechanicus was infamously reluctant to release information it did not absolutely have to, even if that information would be valuable to other branches of the Imperium. Vivane obviously enjoyed being able to steal a march on the tech-priests for a change. "The ship is at full ability then?"

"Yes. The first pirate to run into that ship will regret it. Very briefly. It would be a match for any STC-pattern strike cruiser; the only weakness is the shortage of personnel in the event it is successfully boarded. But Sedreth is a match for a couple of squads of space marines on his own, now. And they have the favour of the Emperor and the Angel."

"They will be safe enough until they do what they must. I wonder what it is."

"Whatever it is, I pray the Emperor's Grace is with them. They will need it."

The two marines watched the rapidly diminishing dot, then turned away from the observation port and went back to their duties.

* * *

a/n this sort of ends book one. I'll continue to post book two as part of the same story, but the next chapter will start after a gap of a couple of years as our heroes try to find out what exactly the Emperor has tasked them with. New characters will be introduced; some will live, some will die, and some familiar ones are protected by canon, to which I continue to attempt to be true. Not being experienced in such things, I admit to having skipped Janey's introduction to the realities of puberty; I really wasn't sure how to write that up from her point of view - or anyone else's.

Thankyou for all the kind comments. I'm currently writing chapter twenty-six, of I expect around thirty-five to forty. I hope you all find it worth sticking with this, in the end. (I've already written the epilogue hehe)


	20. Chapter Nineteen

**Chapter Nineteen**

A/n This starts book two as previously mentioned. It commences approx two years after the space hulk episode during which time our heroes have been trading and occasionally interfering with various unpleasant people/not-people.

* * *

Meyis IV was not a prepossessing planet. Its white sun, while close enough to make the world habitable, was just fractionally too far away to make it comfortable. The planet's average summer temperature was what more pleasant worlds would have considered a mild to cold winter's day. Where it did score, however, was in its axial tilt being tiny, almost negligible. This meant that the difference between midsummer and midwinter was no more than an hour or two of daylight and few degrees in temperature. Since Meyis IV's rotation gave it a twenty-seven hour day/night cycle, and its rolling hills made precipitation a regular occurrence, this meant that most of its surface was suitable for growing the sort of hardy crops that can survive on long days of weak sunlight. This also meant that Meyis IV was cold, damp and fairly miserable, and bred a hardy, tough populace of quite insular and traditional outlook.

Lord Inquisitor Rein Gustavus reflected on this summary as he watched his Deathwatch marines take position. Ignatius had positioned himself near the rear entrance of the building, with brother Jeremiah. The youngest member of the team, Jeremiah had been attached to them only four years before from the Iron Snakes Chapter. He was extremely formidable in close combat, as befitted a former assault marine, and considered Meyis IV to be positively balmy compared to his home planet; the Iron Snakes were based on a barely habitable ice-world populated by, amongst other things, great bear-like predators. Jeremiah had stated that Iron Snakes did not actively hunt the ice bears except on ceremonial occasions, but that it was considered a considerable feat to kill one without resorting to a bolter. Gustavus had had no cause whatsoever to regret the appointment.

At the front of the building, in an alleyway door pretending to be a drunken labourer, was the powerful former Space Wolf Sigurd, who had been with the team for twenty-three years. Relatively short for a space marine, being barely two metres fifteen, Sigurd usually filled this sort of role, as he could just about pass for an ordinary, if very big, man when un-armoured. Tonight he wore a heavy woollen cloak, and thick woollen trews, the normal garb for a middling labourer.

His back-up was the tall, slim (by astartes standards) and utterly deadly Meleriex. Seconded from the Raven Guard seventeen years ago, Gustavus had long since come to the opinion that he had never met any space marine who was quite as efficient a killer. Even Ignatius, himself an utterly lethal combat machine, would be hard-put to take the squad sergeant, he thought. Gustavus had been an Inquisitor for more than a century, and had headed a Deathwatch team for all that time, but he had to admit if only to himself that the black-eyed Raven Guard gave him the chills. If he was typical of the famed but secretive Chapter, it was no wonder they were feared across the galaxy.

Gustavus turned to the fifth and last member of his Deathwatch team, the hard-bitten and much-scarred veteran Tigers Argent space marine Shere, who besides being a competent medican was also their best pilot. Which was why he and Gustavus were still on the small cloaked ship that had brought them to the system. "Any signs that we've been spotted, Shere?"

Shere's dark eyes showed no emotion. They never did, even in combat. "No, Lord Inquisitor. The team are almost in position but there is no movement that might indicate anyone leaving, nor is there any evidence of preparation for defence."

"And you have adequate lock?"

"Yes, Lord Inquisitor. I have a precise fix on Sigurd's beacon. I can put you down within three metres of it at any time."

Gustavus nodded. "Excellent." He spoke into his vox link. "Captain, are you in position?"

The reply was immediate. "We are go on your signal, Lord Gustavus."

He looked to Shere and nodded. "'Port me down."

The man didn't even acknowledge, simply moving the control. There was the familiar, almost painful, sensation and he appeared on a slippery cobbled street. A familiar powerful figure erupted from his doorway and banged a massive fist on a wooden door.

A panel slid open, and a face appeared. "What?"

Sigurd didn't even hesitate, simply booting down the barrier, shattering it to splinters and sending the doorwarden flying. Meleriex appeared from the shadows and was through the door so fast even Gustavus didn't have time to react.

The crackling extension of the marine's lightning claws effectively silenced the room even as men and women started to their feet in confusion. Gustavus stepped past Sigurd, who had produced his bolter from under his cloak and was covering the room with a cold expression.

"Good evening, citizens. Imperial Inquisition. Remain still, in the Emperor's name."

A slight disturbance behind a door to the left was explained when the black-armoured figures of Ignatius and Jeremiah stepped through it, the latter holding a squirming rat-faced man by the neck of his scruffy shirt in one gauntleted hand.

"He appeared to be in a hurry to leave, Lord Inquisitor," said Jeremiah mildly.

Gustavus nodded.

"No-one leaves. I really do not recommend you try." He spoke into his vox. "Shere? Anything?"

The reply came through clearly. "The door to your right leads to a large chamber below you, Lord Inquisitor. Twenty-seven readings, both male and female. They do not appear to have noticed anything as yet."

"Good." He glanced at his captain. "Captain, you and brother Jeremiah, with me. Sigurd, cover this room. Meleriex, be ready to back us up if there's any trouble."

He moved to the door indicated, raised his armoured foot casually, and kicked it in.

* * *

"A party. A drunken party to celebrate someone's birthday." Gustavus knew his voice was flat and hard. "We blew our cover to interrupt a bunch of pissed-up labourers having a good time."

Ignatius looked no happier. "The intelligence was specific, Lord Inquisitor."

"And wrong."

"And wrong," the other acknowledged. Ignatius very carefully put out of his mind the drunken man who had sleepily belched 'T'Inquisition? Dat's a turn up an' no mishtake,' at his commander before falling over on his bench and starting to snore loudly.

"Well, if any cultists are active in the system, they'll go to ground now. Any suggestions?"

Ignatius shook his head slowly. A Deathwatch kill-team was not exactly designed for undercover investigation; people tended to notice space marines. "Lord Gustavus, we need a target. That means we need information. Perhaps the local authorities might be helpful, though without their knowledge. Your understanding of the methods of the traitor cultists might allow us to determine patterns of corruption where local police and militia fail."

"A vast undertaking, Ignatius. But it may be the only realistic option now." He thought for a long moment. "Well, we are perforce out in the open, so we may as well take what advantage that gives. We shall take a shuttle to the capital and acquire their police archives. Including unsolved issues. Especially unsolved issues."

Ignatius saluted and the two of them headed for the shuttle bay.

* * *

"Sedreth," came Sara's voice over the intercom. "Transition in two hours."

Sedreth looked up from his work. He stepped to the com and spoke. "Acknowledged, Sara. I'll be on the bridge in an hour."

"That's fine, Sedreth. Janey's in the kitchen. We'll be eating in about forty minutes."

"Forty minutes. That will be fine."

He smiled to himself. Janey had started to spend a lot of time in the kitchen this last few months. Her cooking was, he admitted, considerably better than his was, though still not the equal of her mother's. Her palate was very experimental, still developing from the over-sweetness of childhood, but her concoctions tended to be tasty and she always made enough even for a marine's appetite.

Since leaving Baal nearly two years before they had travelled by small stages. Typically they spent three or four days in the warp and one or two in realspace, depending very much on the system they came out in. Some systems – most – were uninhabited; the habitable real estate in the galaxy, even with terraforming, was a very small proportion of the total number of stars. But some systems had life; human colonies mostly, though they'd come across a couple of worlds with primitive orks which they had left alone. Non-spacefaring orks were no threat to anyone; they spent their lives fighting each other with spears and clubs and did not disturb the peace of the rest of the galaxy.

They had however run into more advanced orks a few times. Again, in most cases they'd left well enough alone. But they had intervened twice where human colonists had been trying to fight off an ork incursion. He and Sara had 'ported down to engage alongside the outnumbered human forces both times, once successfully, and once only in time to evacuate the remnants of a massacred human population. And once they'd fought against a crude greenskin space vessel; it had been no match for _Phoenix'_s massive batteries.

They'd also hit a pirate raider, about three months after leaving Baal, which had made the mistake of ambushing another vessel when they'd been in the vicinity. The small cargo vessel's captain had been effusively thankful. But mostly, they'd been quietly moving in the general direction of Terra, anti-clockwise round the galactic centre, trading here and there – Sara was getting rather good at that, and Janey was adding world by world and sector by sector to her already well-populated wall-map. Her scrapbook now covered four volumes, and she'd been gradually, without initially planning it, building up a picture of trade routes and materials in the archives which her mother took shameless advantage of. That the ship also contained enormous banks of navigational data from the centuries spent on the Great Crusade – and other things – was an additional useful edge they had over more restricted traders, who tended to stick to known profitable routes and relatively rigid (given the vagaries of the warp) timetables.

Thus at present they carried several hundred tons of various goods in holds that had once carried thousands of tons of military hardware. Although thanks to the Blood Angels they carried a significant ammunition supply also.

He smiled slightly and bent back to the tools and the fractal-edged monosteel blade he was patiently engraving; he had only two more days to finish it.

* * *

"Janey, what do we have in inventory which would be tradeable here?"

Janey smiled at her mother as she ran through the data coming in from the local space station. "They are indicating a desire for heavy metals – refined, not ores – light manufactured goods, spare machine parts, and spices. Main exports, according to records, are agricultural produce – mostly a local grain which has good storage and nutritional properties. Just another ag world, mummy. Except that it's colder than most, and quite short of metals, so it doesn't have the usual population excess. One guard regiment, no military action for more than thirty years."

"Hmm. A bit of a backwater then? That will be nice. We might be able to unload those components from the manufactorium on Krendor."

Janey nodded. "We should maybe look at the woods, mummy. I was lookin' at it last night. Meyis has very big trees which take a long time to mature. The wood is used here for building and is supposed to be very durable and resistant to damp. The old records say that they used to export it, but the planet was used as a World Eater base during the Heresy, an' there was a big battle with the Blood Angels. After that there wasn't much trade, so I don't think anyone buys it now."

Sedreth nodded. "An interesting idea, Janey. The records of what was once traded have mostly been lost. Trade almost shut down in some quadrants during the immediate aftermath of the Rebellion; there was war, and not just between Horus' Legions and the Emperor's, but also against various non-human species, for several centuries before the Imperium got stable enough to revive trade in a major way. I expect that the need to survive and the economic instability of those times prevented anyone taking up the wood trade again. It is after all bulky and not a likely source of profit for most traders. But a developing colony, or a world desirous of luxury status symbols – such as imported wood panellings and carved goods – might be interested."

"That's what I thought too, Mr Morgan. I thought it might be nice to send some panels to Baal, you know, as a memorial to their victory from a world the Blood Angels saved?"

"It might, Janey, but really, that should be a gift from the planet and its people, don't you think?"

Janey thought for a moment, her small face, still a little childish at nearly thirteen, screwed up in the same intense concentration she brought to her lessons. Then she nodded. "Yes, mummy, that would be better. But we can't speak for the Blood Angels, so how do we persuade the people to do something like that?"

Sedreth smiled briefly. Janey's depth of thought was precise; she always cut to the chase. "I have a suggestion. There must be memorials here, to the Ninth's Fallen, and to their victory. We should visit them – maybe visit every single one. And at the same time, we trade for the best quality hardwoods they have, for say, our own chapel. Someone will take the hint."

"That's clever, Mr Morgan."

* * *

Sub-lieutenant Katrin Verstark watched her monitor screens closely, with the careful concentration of one for whom scan was not quite second nature. _INS Golden Dawn_ was her first ship assignment since graduating from the Naval Academy, and she was determined not to make any mistakes. Four years of training as a cadet, and one assigned to basically clerical work before managing to get onto a scan officer's course had been a long struggle for a provincial farm-girl. It was a struggle that she intended to be worthwhile,and now, just two hours into her first basically independent scan watch, she felt nervous and excited despite herself.

She looked round at her immediate senior, Lieutenant Hethlin, whose dark skin was still exotic to someone raised on Meyis, where men and women tended to be pale and blond. Or red-haired, like she was.

"Sir, a new arrival in system. Rogue trader vessel _Eyes of the Phoenix_. Incoming from Krendor via Nils Point. She's requesting permission to dock at station for trade."

Hethlin nodded. "Keep an eye on it; if it deviates from standard course I want to know."

"Yes, sir." She turned back to her screens. That large trader _Prosperity's Luck_ was a bit closer than they should be. Again. She sent the message to the nav officer, copying Lieutenant Hethlin per his previous instruction. Hethlin glanced at her as he acknowledged the message, making her feel a bit more confident.

Junior Controller Reti watched the scans. That trader was getting too close to the military picket. He cursed quietly. As usual, Supervisor Plortis was off in a meeting, so he didn't technically have the authority to order a change of course unless the picket did so first. He noted that the new arrival, the rogue trader ship, was precisely on course. A nice change. Most traders were a bit vague about courses; they stayed in lanes, of course, but needed regular advice to keep them that way. Talking of which... he reached for the pickup.

"Trade-ship _Silver Plume_, this is Meyis control. Your current course will take you out of lane parameters. Please adjust your heading."

* * *

Sara brought _Phoenix_ in to their assigned dock. Janey was on the comms, arranging with the local station what goods to place for offer, and searching for downworld accommodation. They'd decided to spend a day or two exploring the planet; it would coincide with Janey's twelfth birthday anyway, and they always tried to have a special meal on birthdays.

Sedreth was going to go down in civilian dress; he shouldn't really have been able to pass for anything but what he was, but the 'bodyguard' story seemed to pass muster on most worlds. Of course, most worlds never saw a space marine. They'd be armed of course; personal blades, and since the bodyguard license arranged before they'd arrived on Plett was still valid, Sedreth was thus entitled to carry a single projectile weapon, suitable for one-handed use only. Sara smiled slightly to herself; she very much doubted that 'one-handed use only' had ever been intended to include astartes sidearms. Sedreth would therefore carry the bolt pistol he'd been given by brother-sergeant Quinn. It had a Blood Angels sigil on it, and Sedreth always carried it these days, like a talisman, even more than the Saint's Feather attached to his Terminator armour. She couldn't blame him; it meant much much more to him than just a weapon. Desial, rather than his sergeant, had Sedreth's own bolt pistol; sergeant Quinn had said it deserved the squad's best marksman.

They took the slightly rickety-looking public shuttle, Janey leafing through the guidebook and explaining how the orbit of the planet caused it to be slightly cooler than most agricultural worlds. A couple of local workers smiled indulgently at the girl, but said nothing beyond a polite greeting. The downworld spaceport had definitely seen better days. While clean and neat, the floors were worn smooth with the passage of many hundreds of feet, and the data terminals were clearly old. A large sign above a simple desk indicated customs, and the balding man behind it gave no more than a cursory glance to their i.d. The aircab wasn't much less worn, though it too appeared to work adequately. The driver struck Sedreth as being less than entirely sober, but traffic was slight enough that he did not worry overmuch. He did linger as his companions went into the small hotel to check in however, to point out that the driver would much rather a conversation about his intoxicated state before he injured or killed Sedreth's charges. Since the conversation took place only millimetres from the man's stubbled features it appeared to be quite effective, and the big marine strolled into the lobby with a faintly satisfied air.

* * *

"Mummy, look. It's snowing." Janey gestured at the street outside her room's windows. "It's been ages since we saw snow."

"So it is, darling. Maybe we should wait until it goes off before going up to the monument."

She shook her head. "We can wrap up warm, mummy. And it's not so far. There's a public service to Komer's Point, then it's only a klick or so."

Mummy thought for a moment. "Tell you what. We'll get something to eat first, and if the snow is off after that we'll go up to the monument. If not, we'll do a bit of research, see about the wood and so on, and go tomorrow. That will give us some time to get warmer clothing anyway."

She nodded. Warmer clothing was a good idea. Maybe she could get mummy to buy her one of the pretty furry coats people wore here. "Okay."

"It should be just up here, Mr Morgan," said Janey as they all walked together up the long curving roadway. They'd left the houses behind – real houses, with little gardens and everything, not habs – about five minutes ago, but the roadway was well-marked and easy to follow even though it was mostly covered by snow. A tall column loomed through the nearby trees, and they took a neatly marked path through the snow-laden branches. The path ended in a paved square. The column she'd spotted was of weathered dark grey stone with the Emperor's aquila on top of it, looking out over the valley below.

Mummy walked forward, to where there was old worn inlay, the colours all faded. She knelt and gently brushed some snow away from the red teardrop with one hand.

Mr Morgan walked round it slowly, not saying anything. After a few moments he moved to a position facing the tall column and came to attention, then saluted in the traditional fashion, fist to chest.

She watched them then walked to the monument and brushed away the snow from the writing on it. It was High Gothic, mostly, but there was a small bit in Baal runes as well. She read it aloud, slowly tracing the runes. "In the name of the Primarch and the Emperor the sons of Baal bring vengeance eternal to the forsworn."

Mr Morgan looked at her. "Who taught you the Baal runes, Janey?"

"Brother-tech-captain Vivane, Mr Morgan. I asked him what the decorations meant, and he let me have a book on them so I could translate them for myself."

He nodded. She walked over to him, and so did mummy, then the three of them stood facing the monument for a long moment of silence.

She pulled her new furs round her shoulders and took mummy's hand as they walked back towards the town.

* * *

Tam carefully scrunched up a solid ball of snow. Ari and his team were busy throwing at Jules and the rest and he had a free flanking shot. Now! He flung it as hard as he could, just as Marie ducked a shot from someone else. Missed! He ducked a return and scooped up another handful, throwing wildly as the others realised he'd got behind their snow fort and a hail of white snowballs flew towards him. Luckily, Jules led a charge right at that moment and some of the others turned to take them on.

Tam laughed delightedly and, dodging flying balls of damp fluffy snow, ran to join the rest of his team as the fight escalated into a free for all mêlée across the whole playground. It was utterly cool; the biggest fight of the year so far. Even the younger kids were getting involved, and the girls. It was hard to see who was on whose side any more, and he just scooped up snow and flung it at anyone aiming at him or his friends closest to him.

He saw Jess sneaking along the wall and threw at her without thinking. She laughed as his snowball flew high and over the railings. Oops. That big man was going to ... wow. A huge hand spun round and he _caught_ it. Then looked over at Tam with a suddenly wicked expression. He wasn't. He was. The snowball whizzed back at him, far faster than any kid could have thrown it, and exploded into fragments on his hip. The big man winked and Tam suddenly saw another snowball headed for him; the girl beside the big man had thrown one too, giggling, and she didn't throw like a girl either. Tam dodged it, just, and laughed, reaching for more snow.

Jules and the rest had noticed now, and about half the kids were throwing snowballs at the big man and the girl and the woman with them who were all laughing and throwing back as fast as they could. The two grown-ups were really fast, dodging and throwing and occasionally slapping a snowball out of the air in a shower of white flakes. The girl, much smaller than the other two, was more deliberate, concentrating on dodging and picking targets. She was really good at picking people who were ducking for more snow. Tam grinned as he caught the big man on a fur-clad shoulder and ducked hurriedly as a return snowball as big as his head smacked meatily into the wall just beside him.

"What is going on here?" came a high feminine voice. Miss Shadrell. Aw. Just when it was getting good. He turned to look at the teacher as she came out of the entrance door wrapped in the big green cloak that disguised her fatness. All the kids were moving away, not to be noticed.

The big man chuckled. "Just a bit of high spirits, sera. No harm was done."

Miss Shadrell gave him a suspicious look. Before she could speak, the woman stepped toward her and spoke in a soft calm voice. "My daughter hasn't seen snow in a long time, sera. We're sorry if it caused any problems."

Miss Shadrell sniffed. Tam had noticed she did that a lot, and had always been grateful that he'd never had her a class teacher. She said, "Madame, this is not a public holiday. Your daughter should be in school, not throwing snowballs," in a disapproving voice.

The woman smiled. "My daughter does not attend any school, sera. Myself and Morgan here are responsible for her education. I am quite happy with the quality of it."

The girl smiled slightly, caught his eye and grinned with real mischief. Miss Shadrell looked even more sniffy, but simply nodded. "In that case, since the interval bell has rung, I shall send our own pupils back to their classes."

"Of course," said the woman. The big man behind her made a couple of unsuccessful attempts to brush snow of his heavy fur cloak, then shrugged it off, shaking it out with a sharp crack.

"He's got a gun!" shrieked Miss Shadrell, backing up. Tam looked. Wow. That was a big pistol. Miss Shadrell was shooing the children back into the school. The big man looked faintly amused.

Then Mr Brend came out too.

"What is going on here?" he asked. Miss Shadrell turned to him.

"That man, he has a gun."

The man stepped forward to speak and Miss Shadrell took one look, clutched a hand to her chest, and collapsed.

"She's fainted," said the woman. "I'm sorry, we didn't mean to cause any trouble."

Mr Brend looked at Tam and gave him an inquiring look. He blushed and ran in after the others.

"I'm Sara Tarken. We were just passing and sort of got involved in your students' snow fight."

The little man nodded. "That is alright, sera. Judit always was a bit high-strung."

Sedreth stepped forward. "Allow me." He scooped up the fat grey-haired woman easily and carried her carefully into the warmth of the buildings. Janey followed the adults, looking around with interest.

"I am vice-principal Brend. Thank you, sir, if you would just lay her down here while I get the nurse." He glanced at a boy, and said, "Olyn, go and fetch Nurse. Quickly boy." The boy dashed off.

Brend turned to Sara. "Are you intending to enrol your daughter, sera?"

Sara shook her head. "No. We are only here for a few days. For trade and to celebrate Janey's birthday."

He nodded. "Of course. You'll pardon me, but this is not exactly a locality frequented by traders, or tourists."

"We were visiting the memorial."

"Oh. Yes. It's very old. Much older than the town actually. It commemorates a great victory for the Emperor's space marines shortly after the defeat of the heretics at the Siege of Terra."

Sedreth nodded. "It is well cared-for." He did not try to hide his approval and the little man looked pleased.

"Yes. It's a traditional duty of the local children to keep the square clear. There's a thanksgiving service every Emperor's Day and every Sanguinial. The monument was raised by the Blood Angels themselves." He sounded proud, as well he might.

The boy arrived with a plump woman in her fifties wearing a white smock. She bustled over to the fat teacher who was coming round.

Brned continued, "It is unusual to see anyone carrying a pistol on planet. While many of the local families have hunting rifles and so on, handguns are frowned on, even if licensed."

Sedreth nodded. "I understand. However my duty to captain Tarken and her daughter must, I am afraid, override any cultural issues."

The fat woman started up again and the adults moved round her. Janey took advantage to grin at the boy.

"Good fight," he said. "You don't throw like a girl."

She smiled. "I practice. Mr Morgan thinks I should know how to throw. I've never thrown snow before though."

"You haven't? You can't be from around here then. We have snowball fights all the time in winter."

She shook her head. "I'm not. We're just docked for a few days."

"Oh, you're from downriver? I heard it doesn't snow much on the plains by the sea."

"No, silly. Docked at the station. Mummy's a rogue trader."

His eyes grew wide. "Wow. I wish I could go in a starship."

"It's okay. It gets lonely sometimes. I'm the only child on board. And everyone's busy a lot of the time."

"Yeah, but you get to see other worlds. That must be so cool."

She nodded. "It's nice. Some places are really nice. But there's a lot of worlds which aren't very nice. Not as nice as this one."

"Which is the nicest one then?"

She thought for a few minutes. "Canth. And Macragge. Plett III's nice too, but I didn't like Plett IV."

"You've been to Macragge?"

She nodded. "About six years ago. Mummy had to get salvage rights to our new ship confirmed."

"Did you see the Throne?"

"Of the Primarch? Yes. Lord Guilleman was very stern-looking. And handsome. There were lots of other people there too, thousands and thousands."

"Have you been to Terra?"

She shook her head. "No. I don't know if we'll go there. Mummy sort of goes where we can trade. So we're on Meyis for hardwoods, 'cos you used to sell them, long ago, and mummy thinks there could be a market for good quality woods. Not every planet still has forests."

"But what would anyone use wood for, when they have so many other things to build from?"

"Oh, not just for building. But for decoration; like the doors to a chapel, or carved screens, or panelling on a wall. Wood makes a room feel sort of warm and homey."

"Oh. Right. I guess." He suddenly grinned. "Did you see any space marines on Macragge?"

She grinned back. "We were assigned to a military dock. There were Ultramarines and Black Templars on the dockside."

A voice interrupted them. "Having fun, Olyn?"

He gulped. "Sorry, Mr Brend."

The vice-principal gave a brief smile. "Off to class with you, boy."

He nodded. "Bye."

She gave a shy wave. "Bye."

Mr Brend turned to her. "You shouldn't fill his head with stories about space marines, miss Tarken. He'll spend more time dreaming than at his studies."

She nodded. That might not be good. Studies were important. "Sorry, sir. I should have told him we hadn't seen any."

He nodded. "Quite. However, done is done. Captain Tarken, it was nice to meet you. I hope your trading brings prosperity to you and Meyis both."

Mummy smiled. "I am sure we will find areas of mutual profit. Once again, my apologies for all the excitement." She held out her hand and Janey took it.

"Goodbye, ser Brend. Emperor's Grace."

He nodded. "Goodbye, young lady. His blessings on you and your friends."

Mummy shook hands with him and the three of them went back the way they'd come, through the playground and down the long curving road towards the town again. Mummy squeezed her hand.

"Are you alright, darling?"

She nodded. "I guess. I just didn't notice before."

"I know. It would be nice to have some more people aboard, maybe some children your age. But I don't think they could manage with all the stuff we do. Not like you."

She smiled. "Mmm. That boy was jealous 'cos we get to go places. I guess we all want something different sometimes."

Mr Morgan nodded. "Indeed. But it is getting on. I suggest we find somewhere to dine. It has been some time since breakfast and you two need to eat in temperatures like these."

* * *

The little shopping area was quiet, with just a few women and very young children in evidence. A small café, brightly painted in blue and green, was Janey's venue of choice and proved to have a nice line in warm nourishing soup and well-filled sandwiches. It was getting on for sixteen hundred standard when they finished and was dark.

"Mummy, why is it getting dark? The variation in daylight, even in winter is only an hour or so."

Sedreth smiled. "Indeed, Janey, but your chrono is set to ship-time. This part of the planet is about three hours ahead of that. So it's seven or so in the evening here."

She flushed, feeling stupid. "Doesn't that mean we won't be able to get transport back to the hotel?"

Mummy nodded. "It might be quite awkward. But it's only five klicks or so even if we can't get transport, and downhill at that. Even this late, that's not a problem."

She nodded, accepting that. "If we're going to walk that far, can I have another cake, then?"

Mummy laughed. "I think we should all have one."

And they did, with whipped creamy stuff and lovely gooey icing.

When they were finished and had paid, and mummy and her had gone to pee, it was getting quite dark. So they started off in the direction of town.

There were lots more people about now, all of them bundled up in heavy cloaks and furs against the cold. They all seemed to be heading the same way, and Mr Morgan tilted his head in that way he had when he was asking an obvious question. Mummy nodded, and the three of them joined the crowds.

After a little walk, no more than a klick, they could see a big sign glowing in the dark. It read 'Trad 2nite. All welcome.'

"What's trad, mummy?"

"I don't know. Why don't we find out?"

They all went in through a pair of double doors, and along a short corridor. Some people were handing their cloaks and outer clothing in at a booth with a pretty girl at it, and everyone was talking happily. Then the corridor opened up and there was a wide space with lots of benches and tables. On one side was a long wooden bar, sort of worn, but with lots of bottles of stuff displayed behind it. Beside the bar was a serving hatch and women in aprons were carrying big wooden platters of food to the tables.

"Let's get a seat, darling," said mummy, and led them to a table near the side away from the bar. Mr Morgan leant back against the wall behind them; the bench was too small for him. One of the serving women came over and asked them if they wanted the standard or special. Mummy said standard and the woman went away with a smile. She came back a couple of minutes later with a large jug and some pottery goblets, then one of the other women put a huge platter in the centre of the table with a basket of bread and a stack of plates. The platter was piled high with meat and roasted vegetables in greens and oranges and reds and yellows, and smelt really good.

A couple, a bit older than mummy, smiled and sat down at their table. The man had a big knife at his hip and a thick bushy brown beard with some grey in it; the woman was a bit younger with a pretty yellow ribbon in her hair which matched the flowers on her shirt.

"Hello," said the woman. "I'm Shirl, and this is my husband Kev. I hope you don't mind, but it's normal here for people to just sit where they like, to meet new friends. We've met all sorts of people on trad nights. This your first, is it?"

Mummy smiled back. "Is it that obvious?" She took a plate from Shirl and passed another to Janey.

The man, Kev, laughed. "A bit. The regulars, people who really like to come, tend to dress the part, sort of rustic. Folks who're just curious don't."

Mummy was about to say something when the lights went sort of dim and a man stepped onto the platform at the end of the room.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to another night of traditional music and dancing. We're going to start off the fun in a second, but first, for our new friends who are here for the first time, can I have a big welcome from our regulars."

There was a small round of applause and a few loud hellos. Then a small group of people took their places on stools and the announcer man said, "And now, without further ado, here's our house band. Give them a big round of applause and let's get our night under way."

Everyone clapped and the people on stools started to play music. It was really nice music, soft and gentle but sort of bouncy and fun at the same time, with a beat you could clap along to and tap your foot.

Kev piled some food on mummy's plate, and a bit less on hers, then served Shirl and himself, and another couple who joined the table with a boy a bit older than she was. In between tunes they managed to speak a bit, and she found out that his name was Brital, or Bri for short. There was a long history of traditional dances and music on Meyis, especially in winter.

"It gives us all a nice way to pass the time on cold winter nights," said Bri's father with a grin.

After a bit the band took a break and mummy and Kev and Shirl and Bri's parents chatted about trade and the different types of wood.

She told Bri about their trip to the monument at Komer's Point and he nodded eagerly.

"There's a service held there every Sanguinial," he said. "It's very solemn; the Blood Angels won a great victory against the forces of the arch-heretic here and we give thanks for that and pray that their Fallen rest at peace with the Angel Saint Sanguinius and the Emperor. And every Emperor's day the local councilmen lay a wreath in memory."

She nodded. "That's good. When someone dies to protect someone else they should be remembered."

"Yes. Oh, I like this one. You want to dance?"

She blushed. "I don't know how."

He laughed. "Come on, I'll show you."

She looked at mummy, who nodded. "Go ahead, darling. It's your birthday tomorrow, so enjoy yourself."

She smiled and took Bri's offered hand letting him lead her onto the dance floor where they took places in a line of clapping couples. She quickly got the hang of it, laughing and bouncing along with the rest. Dancing was fun, she decided.

After a few dances – not all with Bri – she was leaning against mummy feeling quite tired and sleepy; they'd all eaten quite a lot as well as danced and sung along. The announcer man came back on and spoke quietly.

"And now, ladies and gentlemen, as we finish our night of celebration and merriment, it is time to remember. We remember our families and friends, who have gone on before us into the Emperor's Light and who we will all meet again someday. And in token on those honoured ancestors, the band will now play the oldest song we know. A song of distant Terra, a song so old its words need translation for us today, for the language of this ancient tune is no longer spoken amongst the worlds of the Imperium. It is a song of warriors, a song remembering a conflict that happened long before humanity left its cradle to stride amongst the stars. My friends, this tune comes from a single land on Holy Terra, a land from which many of our ancestors came to make their homes here. Gentlemen, in your own time," he gestured to the band who started to play a soft melody.

Above the players, written words shone in the air,

"_When I was a young man, I carried my pack,_

_And I lived the free life of a rover,_

_From the Murray's green basin to the dusty outback,_

_I waltzed my Matilda all over._

_Then in 1915 my country said, 'Son,_

_It's time to stop rambling, _

_'cos there's work to be done.'_

_And they gave me a tin hat and they gave me a gun,_

_And they sent me away to the war._

_And the band played Waltzing Matilda,_

_As the ship sailed away from the quay,_

_And amidst all the tears, _

_And the shouts and the cheers,_

_We sailed off for Gallipoli._

_How well I remember that terrible day,_

_When the blood stained the sand and the water,_

_And how in that Hell that they called Suvla Bay,_

_We were butchered like lambs at the slaughter._

_Johnny Turk he was ready,_

_He'd primed himself well,_

_He showered us with bullets and he rained us with shell,_

_And in five minutes flat, he'd blown us all to hell,  
_

_Nearly blew us right back to Australia._

_And the band played Waltzing Matilda,_

_As we stopped to bury our slain,_

_And we buried ours,_

_And the Turks buried theirs,_

_Then it started all over again._

_Well, those who were living did their best to survive,_

_In that mad world of death blood and fire._

_And for seven long weeks I kept myself alive,_

_While the corpses around me piled higher._

_Then a big Turkish shell,_

_Knocked me arse over tit,_

_And when I awoke in my hospital bed,_

_And saw what it had done,_

_Christ, I wished I was dead._

_Never knew there were worse things than dying._

_And no more I'll go Waltzing Matilda,_

_To the green bushes so far and near,_

_For to hang tents and pegs,_

_A man needs two legs,_

_No more Waltzing Matilda for me._

_So they collected the cripples, the wounded and maimed,_

_And they shipped us back home to Australia._

_The legless, the armless, the blind and insane,_

_Those proud wounded heroes of Suvla._

_And as our ship pulled into Circular Quay,_

_I looked at the place where my legs used to be,_

_And thanked Christ there was nobody,_

_Waiting for me._

_To grieve and to mourn and to pity._

_And the band played Waltzing Matilda,_

_As they carried us down the gangway,_

_But nobody cheered,_

_They just stood and stared,_

_And they turned their faces away._

_And now every April I sit on my porch,_

_And I watch the parade pass before me._

_I see my old comrades,_

_How proudly they march,_

_Reliving the dreams of past glory._

_I see the old men, _

_All twisted and torn,_

_The forgotten heroes of a forgotten war,_

_And the young people ask me,_

_What are they marching for,_

_And I ask myself the same question._

_And the band plays Waltzing Matilda_

_And the old men still answer the call,_

_But year after year,_

_Their numbers get fewer,_

_Some day no-one will march there at all._

_Waltzing Matilda, Waltzing Matilda, _

_Who'll come a-waltzing Matilda with me."_

There was a huge round of applause as the song finished and the band leader spoke quietly.

"That ancient song speaks of the treatment of brave warriors who returned home wounded from service. Here on Meyis, we have a proud tradition amongst our people of entering the Emperor's service. But, here, we honour our fallen and our injured. Here, we do not turn our faces away. And here, we will always answer the Emperor's call."

There was a massive round of applause and a few cheers. The man lifted his goblet and waited for silence.

"For our fallen. For our service people. For the Emperor."

All around the hall people lifted goblets and mugs and held them high.

"For the Emperor." It echoed through the room for a long moment, then someone started to sing, a familiar hymn of praise that she and mummy had sung in church with daddy. She found tears in her eyes even as she joined in. Someone squeezed her hand gently and she met mummy's eyes which were as full as her own. They smiled at each other as the old song finished. People were filing out, smiles on their faces. Kev and Shirl shook hands with mummy and Bri and his parents did too, then Mr Morgan was there, wrapping mummy's cloak round her and helping her into her comfy new fur cloak. He smiled gravely as they walked out of the building and turned down the road towards the town. It was dark and starting to snow softly and she was glad of the hood of her warm cloak.

"Did you enjoy that, darling?"

She nodded. "It was really nice, mummy. I liked dancing. And the songs were really nice. Especially the last one before the hymn, even though it was kind of sad."

"It was, wasn't it?"

"Do you think it really is as old as they said?"

Mr Morgan's voice was thoughtful "It is possible. I have heard the language before. It is an ancient Terran dialect called Ing-glic. The natives of a world we brought into compliance during the Crusade spoke it. And one of the ancient continents of Terra was – is still – called Stralia."

"Oh, yes. It was on my hologram." She thought for a while. That was really old. "Mummy, what does 1915 mean? Is that some sort of date?"

"It might be, I suppose. What do you think, Morgan?"

"Indeed. If it were put in our terms it would be, I think, year 915 of the second millennium."

She giggled suddenly. "That's even older than you, Mr Morgan."

"Thank you, Janey. I appreciate being reminded that I am not young any more."

She giggled again. "Neither am I. I'm thirteen today."

"Positively ancient. I shall arrange a walking stick for you to use with your exercises."

Everyone laughed. It was nice to see Mr Morgan laugh; he'd been sort of sad for a long time.

* * *

Mitty watched in his viocular as the three fur-cloaked figures approached through the snow. A man, very tall, probably enhanced in some way, a woman and a child. The man had to be a bodyguard of some sort. He signalled the others quietly. Everyone concentrate on the bodyguard. Rook could grab the girl, and Snee and Ros the woman. He didn't know why that creep Kathcart wanted them – slaving probably – and didn't care. The money was good and that was what mattered. He signalled the rest to be ready on his action.

"Lord Inquisitor, the snatch gang has spotted targets and are moving into position. But there is a problem."

"What, captain?"

"One of the targets is astartes. In civilian clothes and escorting a woman and child, but my helmet autosenses are not mistaken. He is a space marine. And big, even for one of us."

"Why would a space marine be escorting a woman and child?"

"I do not know, Lord Inquisitor. But the gang are in for a very unpleasant surprise."

"Blast it. Move your men into position. Try and take a few of these scum alive."

"Yes, Lord Inquisitor."

Gustavus cut the connection with a quiet curse. What in the Emperor's name was a space marine doing incognito on this benighted backwater? He wondered if the man had any connection with the cultists he was hunting, then discounted it. Chaos marines were never seen outside their armour; they were in his experience too altered by their allegiance to the ruinous powers to pass for human. He moved silently forward.

Mitty chuckled to himself, and stepped out to confront the victims.

"All right. Stop right there," he said confidently. The big man's hand moved and there was a shattering concussion. He saw a flare of light from the muzzle of some sort of pistol then his chest exploded in pain. He looked down at the ground just at his nose. Wha...

Even as Sedreth opened fire, Sara and Janey split, diving for opposite sides of the street. A wiry man rose out of the darkness with a knife in his hand.

Rook grinned. "Come quietly, little one and no-one will get hurt."

She grinned right at him and was suddenly – how could any child move so fast? – inside his reach. There was sudden pain in his gut and he looked down to see the golden hilt of an Imperial combat knife driven up into his chest. The world went black.

Gustavus watched in amazement as the two females dived sideways, directly towards the waiting gang members, blades suddenly shining in their hands. There were a couple of soft cries, barely audible above the hard sharp crack of the marine's bolt pistol as he sought and found targets.

"Captain, move in, fast as you can while there's any of them left to capture."

Tia watched her mates getting taken apart and decided discretion was the better part of valour. She turned to run and a huge armoured hand wrapped itself round her face. She tried to scream but had no breath. She tried to stab but her blade bounced off something hard and pain erupted in her arm. Something smacked into her head and she saw stars then merciful darkness took her.

Janey's voice came from the deep shadow of the wall she'd been against, "Just one here. He's dead. Clear, Mr Morgan."

Sara answered her. "Two here. Both dead. Clear, Morgan."

"I saw six, got five. One unaccounted for. But we have other company."

Sedreth paused, still and ready to fire, as other shapes coalesced out of the swirling snow. Battle-armoured space marines moved out of the shadows, all in black but for the Chapter insignia on their left shoulders.

"Easy brother," said one, in a semi-growl. His left shoulder was the yellow, and bore the symbol, of the Space Wolves.

He cursed quietly. Deathwatch; it had to be. "I'm easy, brother. My apologies. We didn't know there was a Deathwatch team here." He holstered his pistol, absently loading a fresh clip as he did so.

Janey came into the open, her combat knife sheathed, dragging a body across the slippery snow. Sara came from the other direction, dark eyes calm.

"What's Deathwatch, Mr Morgan?" asked Janey curiously.

"Elite team, Janey, assigned to an Inquisitor. Talking of which, where is the Inquisitor?"

A third marine, entirely black-armoured but for the white stylised raven on his shoulder, appeared, silent, from the shadows. He had an unconscious woman slung casually over his shoulder.

"The Lord Inquisitor is with brother-captain Ignatius. Captain Tarken, is it not?"

Sara nodded. "Have we met, brother-sergeant?"

"We have not been introduced, but Lord Gustavus and brother-captain Ignatius met you at Devsparts. I am brother-sergeant Meleriex."

Sara nodded. "I remember meeting the Lord Inquisitor. It is an honour to meet you all. Have we interfered in something?"

The Raven Guard nodded, just the barest movement of his helmet. "Regrettably, yes. We were tracking this group of criminals in order that they could lead us to larger game. But you are not to be blamed for defending yourselves. Your daughter is most skilled, for one so young."

Two more armoured figures walked together out of a side-alley, one a black-armoured space marine, dragging an unconscious body by its legs, the other a tall grim man armoured in deep crimson and gold. The Lord Inquisitor nodded courteously.

"Captain Tarken. A pleasure to meet you again. Your bodyguard is most proficient. I gather that you are, then, an agent of the Ultramarines?"

Sara shook her head. "I am an agent of the Emperor, Lord Gustavus. Brother-sergeant Sedreth is not an Ultramarine."

Janey looked down at the body behind her and spoke softly. "I'm sorry, Mr Morgan. He wasn't very dangerous. I should have taken him alive."

He looked at her and shook his head. "You should not. An unknown opponent is dangerous. Let me worry about prisoners, Janey. Until you are old enough to wear armour, it is better if you ensure your opponents are beyond harm. Killing is safest."

She nodded. "I wish I hadn't smiled at him though."

He nodded, briefly ignoring the Deathwatch team. "Indeed. But you did not kill him out of malice or cruelty, but in self-defence. The smile gave him pause for a fatal second. It was a good tactical decision."

She looked up at him. "Can I say a prayer for him?"

"Of course. Whatever his deeds may have been, it is right to regret the necessity of taking his life." He looked round at the watching squad. A small pile of corpses now lay in the street, dragged there by the space marines. He recognised codex chapter insignia; Space Wolves, Raven Guard, Blood Ravens (the captain) and Iron Snakes.

Gustavus was about to speak when his com-unit buzzed. "Yes?"

His enhanced hearing was sufficiently good to hear the answer. "Lord Gustavus, I just picked up a teleport signal from your vicinity."

"Incoming?"

"Negative. It was a single signal; just one person."

"We were observed. Can you trace the signal?"

"Not with the scans available. I'd need full military scans, Lord Gustavus."

The Inquisitor nodded briefly. "Very well, stay alert, Shere. Inform me of anything else." He turned to Sara. "Captain, as I recall, your vessel is ex-military, correct?"

She nodded. "Indeed, Lord Gustavus. _Eyes of the Phoenix_ is a Raptor-class strike destroyer. With some modifications."

Meleriex glanced at her, alertness in every fibre of his being. "I was under the impression that the Raven Guard alone maintained a vessel of this class, captain?"

Sara looked at him levelly. "My ship was found uncrewed, brother-sergeant. I applied for salvage, and Lord Commander Calgar confirmed my legal right to the entire ship. She's rather better protected than most traders, so I kept her."

"Do her scans retain full facility?"

"Yes, Lord Inquisitor. We were able to marry them with the scans of the battle-barge _Eternal Wrath _during operations against the space hulk _Heresy of Corruption_ twenty-seven months ago."

"You engaged in operations alongside the Blood Angels?" Gustavus looked surprised for a second.

"Indeed, Lord Inquisitor. Since we were the ones who found the accursed hulk in the first place we were ordered to remain on station until it had been dealt with. It was our honour to be able to assist in a small way."

The Inquisitor nodded sharply. "Then, captain, I am going to have to commandeer your ship. I need to trace a teleport signal."

"Of course, Lord Inquisitor. We are at your service."

"Good. Kindly order your crew to 'port us up."

Janey spoke. "Mummy, don't. Lord Inquisitor, if we 'port up we could disrupt any trace of the signal. We'd be better off flying up in a shuttle."

Sedreth nodded. "Lord Inquisitor, Janey has been running scan since she could read. I suggest she is correct."

The man looked at him thoughtfully. "Very well. Have you.. no. I shall have Shere come down for us. We can take the corpses for examination also. And our sleeping 'guests'."

The captain looked at him. "Lord Inquisitor, a shuttle will be noticed."

"True, but if we are observed anyway, it is of little consequence. Contact Shere and have him come down for us."

"As you command, Lord Gustavus." The man spoke into his vox quietly.

Gustavus looked at Janey. "You know a lot for one so young, child. Where did you learn to use a blade?"

She smiled up at him. "Mr Morgan trains me. And mummy too."

"Does he indeed? And do you train in other weapons also?"

She nodded. "I train unarmed, and with a bolt pistol. I have to use both hands for that though. And when Mr Morgan was hurt brother-sergeant Quinn and brother-captain Esceriel let me practice with them."

"Do you like training with space marines?"

She grinned. "Yes! Space marines are really fast and strong and so good at fighting. It's fun. Hard, but fun all the same."

Gustavus smiled gravely. "It is good to know we have a company of astartes to call on."

She shook her head. "Oh no. Captain Esceriel and sergeant Quinn are back on Baal with the rest of the Blood Angels. Only Mr Morgan stays on _Phoenix_. But why would you need a whole company of space marines anyway?" She blushed and hesitated, then went on. "I mean, you have Blood Ravens and Space Wolves and Raven Guard and – I'm sorry, I don't recognise your insignia?"

Sedreth spoke before anyone else could. "He is of the Iron Snakes Chapter, Janey. A descendant chapter of the Ultramarines. Third Founding, I believe?"

The man shook his head briefly. "Second," he corrected.

She and Sedreth both nodded an acknowledgement. He went on. "And Lord Gustavus doesn't have whole companies, or even squads, of these chapters. These warriors are armoured in black because they are part of a Deathwatch kill-team. Such teams are usually only five or six strong."

"Oh. Sorry, Lord Gustavus."

Sedreth continued. "That said, a kill-team is made up of the finest warriors amongst all the chapters. Only the very best take service with the Deathwatch, and it is a great honour to serve so. I have no doubt that all of these men are the equal of three or four ordinary marines."

Sara chuckled. "Since when was there such a thing as an 'ordinary' space marine, Morgan?" She looked up as light blazed in the sky. "That appears to be your shuttle, Lord Gustavus. Shall we?"

The Inquisitor gave her a long look, then nodded and led the way to the landing shuttle.

The 'shuttle' was an armed and armoured Thunderhawk dropship, almost identical to the ones the Blood Angels had used, except for being black and bearing the stylised 'I' of the Imquisition. Another black-armoured marine was at the hatch, bolter in hand. The insignia on his shoulder was a snarling feline head in silver striped in black. He watched them until the Space Wolf had taken over his position, then moved back into the flight cabin. They all strapped in, Janey on her mother's lap with the belts across them both.

The ship erupted almost vertically upwards, and Sara called their docking assignment across to the pilot, getting a terse acknowledgement.

The heavy-set Space Wolf took off his helmet, revealing a thick, greying moustache and two long braids of brown hair, also streaked with grey. His canines were longer than normal, increasing his innate impression of a dangerous predator. He gave a brief nod then spoke. "Brother Sigurd. You were involved in action with the Blood Angels, brother-sergeant Sedreth?"

He nodded. "Indeed. I teleported across to the hulk with additional ammunition for three squads of Terminators cut off by genestealers. We were able to hold out until relieved by the Third Company under brother-captain Esceriel."

The grim-faced Blood Raven captain nodded. "That is a Blood Angels bolt pistol you carry."

"Brother Desial carries mine."

"I have heard of brother-captain Esceriel. He is a fine warrior."

Sedreth nodded. "Very. Had he been any less skilled we would all have died. I have to admit that I have seen less welcome things than a company of Blood Angels coming to my assistance."

Sigurd gave a sharp bark of laughter. "I can imagine. How many 'stealers?"

He shook his head. "I don't know, but three squads of Terminators lost half their strength and ran out of ammunition killing the damned things. As did Esceriel's devastator squads. A lot."

"You were wounded?"

He shrugged. "Caught a claw in the chest. I was out of action for four months. My armour was ruined. Even tech-captain Vivane couldn't see a way to fix it."

The space marines all grimaced. "A bad thing, to lose armour that way."

Sedreth nodded. "It protected me well, though."

"Great Emperor, is that your ship, captain?" asked Sigurd in amazement, looking out of the viewing port. Sara nodded.

The Space Wolf shook his head. "Lord Calgar must have had pressing reasons to allow you to keep a ship like that."

"I don't try to guess Lord Calgar's mind, brother Sigurd. Do you wish to use the ship's own dock, Lord Inquisitor?"

"No. We shall take the landing platform and then brother Shere will take our guests to my ship."

Sara inclined her head in acceptance.


	21. Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty

It was a strange little procession, thought Shere idly. The Lord Inquisitor in his crimson and gold armour followed by the three 'civilian' figures in their furs and cloaks, and finally the four black-armoured space marines with weapons easily carried at the ready. Anyone watching would assume the three of them were under guard, and that was perhaps Gustavus' intention.

They walked up the ramp; the door opened silently to Sara's command wand. Ignatius paused as they walked through the beautifully gilded and decorated doorway. Interesting; he didn't recognise the strange raptor-like birds that stood wreathed in flames on either side of the Emperor's two-headed eagle.

He followed, last, as the group entered a long processional. A long, empty processional, gleaming metal and occasionally a polished wood-faced door, the aquila a repeated presence in gold opposite a winged talon device, also in gold, that he didn't recognise but that was vaguely familiar. The Inquisitor's light tenor came back to him above the quiet hum of machinery.

"Where is the rest of your crew, captain Tarken?"

Her reply was astonishing. "There is no 'rest', Inquisitor. Just the three of us, and the ship. She was fully automated a long long time ago. _Phoenix_'s machine spirit keeps us safe. The ship is very protective."

"Indeed? I do not recognise the insignia." He indicated the golden winged talons.

She chuckled. "Unsurprising, Inquisitor. The codex insignia of the Third Legion has not been a common sight since the Emperor's Children joined the arch-heretic in his rebellion against His Imperial Majesty. _Phoenix_ is a living reminder of what the Imperium should have been, but for the Heresy."

Gustavus paused in mid-stride at that bald statement, then kept walking. Beside Ignatius the other Deathwatch marines drew sharp breaths, but their discipline held and they waited on the Inquisitor's signal. Gustavus merely asked, "And Lord Calgar was aware of the origins of this vessel?"

"Indeed, Inquisitor. As is Lord Commander Dante, of course, and also Lord Commander Mattheus of the Black Templars, since one of his captains was our guest on board for a while. I have no doubt that brother-captain Mendez of the Grey Knights has likewise informed his Lord Commander of the origins of this ship. He and his Terminator squad manned the gunnery stations on the bridge during a brief action in the Plett system."

Gustavus nodded. "That explains why you and your daughter are so familiar with space marines. Did you too train with the Blood Angels?"

She inclined her head, pressing the button for the lift. "I used the combat trainer under the instruction of brother-captain Sandros. He felt my bladeplay was not as good as it should be." She smiled slightly. "He is a hard taskmaster."

Ignatius pondered that for a moment. He had fought alongside Sandros on one memorable occasion. The man commanded the Blood Angels' assault company and was exceptionally skilled in hand-to-hand combat. For him to deign to even watch a non-astartes training, let alone to actually train her, was unheard of.

They all filed into the lift, Tarken and her daughter both shrugging off their outer clothes. The big marine – and Emperor, he _was_ big, taller than any of them for all they were armoured and he was not – had folded his over his arm before they had even boarded. Gustavus looked at the tall handsome man.

"And you, brother-sergeant Sedreth. Does it not bother you to be aboard a vessel belonging to traitors and heretics?"

"Not in the least, Lord Inquisitor Gustavus. It is no longer the preserve of such and I have no doubts of captain Tarken's loyalty and devotion to the Emperor. Nor of her daughter. I have seen them fight His enemies." He smiled briefly. "Janey here killed a Word Bearer before she was seven, and her mother saved my life in combat with Night Lord raptor marines before we had properly met. Whatever the Emperor's purpose in bringing us together, I have no quarrel with it."

Meleriex looked down at the child. "You killed a Word Bearer, child?"

She shook her head, blushing slightly. "Mummy killed him. I just dropped some grenades at his feet and blew his legs off."

The lift stopped before anyone else could speak again, and Tarken led them along a short corridor to an empty bridge, its stations on stand-by. Ignatius looked questioningly at the Lord Inquisitor who gave the minutest shake of the head. Ignatius contented himself with a quiet inspection of the bridge. It was not laid out quite the same as other vessels he had been on. For one thing the command throne was much less decorative, and sized for an astartes rather than a normal human, and for another the room was almost devoid of embellishments, being instead sleekly functional. The large padded chairs showed signs of faint wear, but were as sleek and gleaming as every other surface, the consoles likewise. In the centre, just in front of the command throne, lay a golden plate, engraved with the aquila; the dedication plate of the vessel.

The girl, Janey, moved quickly to one of the chairs and brought the station live, then turned. "Lord Inquisitor, I'll need the co-ordinates of the teleport, as close as you can get. And any other information you have, if possible. Was the signal captured?"

Gustavus shook his head. "I do not know. Brother Shere is not a techmarine." He spoke into his vox. "Shere, we need details on that signal, co-ordinates if possible and any capture you managed."

The girl smiled. "Lord Gustavus, can you patch me in? It would be easier if I spoke to him myself."

The Inquisitor nodded.

Tarken looked at him. "Brother-captain, might I enquire who it is you think you are hunting?"

Ignatius met her polite gaze but did not immediately reply. After a second he said. "Why would you wish to know, captain?"

"The Inquisition would not waste a Deathwatch team on a minor matter. If we are potentially dealing with more than minor cultists, then Sedreth and I should be prepared for it, and we should don armour."

Lord Gustavus gave her a dismissive glance. "I doubt there is much likelihood of you needing such, captain. However, you have my permission to arm yourselves if you wish."

"Thank you, Lord Gustavus. Morgan would you bring up a bolter for each of us?"

"Of course, captain." The big man left without another word. A gesture from Ignatius sent Meleriex with him; the Raven Guard was more than capable of dealing with any unarmoured warrior, no matter how proficient. Sedreth made no comment, barely even glancing at the other sergeant as he turned out of the door and along the corridor.

The two of them were nearing the entrance to what was obviously an auxiliary armoury when the girl's light voice came over the speakers.

"Mr Morgan, would you go to the aux lock on level eight starboard? Brother Shere is flying over a dataspool of the signals he's picked up over the last few days. Lord Gustavus wants you and brother-sergeant Meleriex to meet him."

The big man spoke into the air. "Acknowledged, Janey. On our way."

He gestured politely for Meleriex to go with him and the black-eyed Raven Guard did so without a word, suspicion still in his movements. They took the lift in silence and walked together along the processional until Sedreth turned right and led them along a series of cross-passages and past what appeared to be the ship's main batteries. Down a broad flight of metal stairs there was a heavily armoured hatchway, then another, and finally an outer hatchway that was at least three metres thick and slid upwards to expose the dock. Shere's Thunderhawk was coming in to land on the nearby platform and they waited for the Tigers Argent marine just outside the hatchway.

* * *

Klair Shere walked easily towards the two marines waiting at the hatchway. As he approached he inspected the unarmoured Sedreth with the expertise of a three-century veteran. Impressive. Taller unarmoured even than Meleriex in full battle-plate, he was also broad of shoulder and well-balanced. His close cut hair was blonde, almost white, and his eyes were a cool piercing blue-grey. And those eyes held the self-confidence of a warrior who had been through many many battles and knew to a nicety just how good he was. A dangerous warrior. A warrior you would prefer to be alongside than to face. Yet there was something else, something indefinable. A serenity of purpose, as he had seen sometimes on marines, and even guardsmen, who knew they were entering their last fight and had nothing more to do than fight until they fell. A warrior who after a long long time was finally at peace with himself.

The bolter he carried was a superbly decorative example of the sickle pattern, chased in gilts and bronzes but nonetheless functionally deadly. It looked, thought Shere, very old. So, for that matter, did Sedreth. Unless killed in action, space marines were for all practical purposes immortal, and Sedreth's gaze held that measurement that came only to true veterans.

Shere caught himself comparing the stranger marine against his long-time comrade. Meleriex had a justifiably deadly reputation; he was a lethal killer, but a highly intelligent and focussed one. His balance was superlative and his reflexes, even by astartes standards, blinding. Shere had seen the Raven Guard in action many times and had rarely failed to be impressed, but somehow he got the impression that the Deathwatch sergeant wouldn't last five minutes against the man beside him. It was an unusual impression; and an unwelcome one. Sedreth was so utterly self-confident as to be unbothered by the proximity to a marine to whom even other marines instinctively gave a certain wary respect.

He wondered just where Sedreth had gained such confidence and skill. He had already reviewed the record; the tactical replay of the action an hour ago recorded automatically via the helmet inputs of the team. It showed that the marine had fired only four shots; the entire action had barely taken three seconds. Each shot had been precise; each had instantly killed its target. In almost pitch darkness, into cover, without the autosenses of power armour, that was quite a feat, even for the enhanced senses of a space marine.

And his companions were also very very good. Outside the assault companies, few astartes were so good with blades as to cleanly kill two simultaneous opponents in two strikes, as the woman had done. The girl's strike too had been precise and lethal, so accurate that the man she'd killed had barely bled, and had almost certainly not known what hit him. If Sedreth had indeed trained them, it said a lot for his own close combat abilities.

He walked beside the two of them along the broad processional.

"I do not recognise the insignia, brother-sergeant Sedreth?" he said in a quietly questioning tone.

"It is the codex device of the Emperor's Children Legion, brother-astartes Shere," came the polite reply.

Shere paused for a second to take a long look at the man. "That joke is in poor taste, Sedreth."

"It is not a joke. This ship was part of the battle-fleet of the Third Legion. It carried the 79th battle company during the Great Crusade."

Meleriex's soft voice was pointed. "How do you know that?"

"It is there for anyone to read, if they know how. The ship's registration plate states '_gamma-79_'. The letter indicates the Third Legion – the Emperor's Children – the number, the company within that legion. Modern warships, of course, do not have a number beyond ten, as there are no longer such huge formations permitted by the codex. However, some of the oldest vessels of the First Founding chapter fleets no doubt will have similar registrations. Such a vessel of the Raven Guard would use the letter tau, of course, as it is the nineteenth letter of that alphabet, matching the XIX Legion."

Meleriex nodded slowly, thoughtfully. "Indeed? That explains the registration of one of our older strike cruisers, on which I had the honour of serving."

Sedreth resumed walking. "Old enough registrations are understandably rare. Over the millennia, most such vessels will have been lost in combat, or simply scrapped as obsolete, or damaged beyond repair."

Shere walked alongside the man. "You know much of registrations, Sedreth?"

"I know a bit about lots of things," he smiled faintly. "Why?"

"The registrations of my Chapter's ships are not an alphanumeric pair, but have three numbers."

"Indeed. The Tigers Argent are a fourth founding chapter, I believe?"

"That is correct." Shere knew his voice was slightly stiff.

"Descendant of the Ultramarines?"

Shere shook his head. "Not directly, our precedent chapter is the Sons of Guilleman, actually."

Sedreth nodded. "That explains it. Your registration letter is nu, the thirteenth letter of the ancient Greek alphabet, for the Ultramarines, the Thirteenth Legion. The first numeric will indicate the Sons of Guilleman. The second numeric indicates your relation to them – the first, second and so on chapter founded from their geneseed – and the last number which company your vessel is assigned to."

Shere thought. That made sense. "A simple and elegant system. That is why our vessels are all nu-13-2-something?"

"Yes. The Sons of Guilleman must be the thirteenth chapter founded direct from the Ultramarines, and you, the Tigers Argent, are the second chapter founded from them. The Black Templars vessels are all epsilon-2-something, as the second chapter founded from the Imperial Fists. The Raven Guard's fleet have only tau, because they are a First Founding chapter."

Meleriex nodded gravely. "A day when you learn something is not wasted. I was unaware of the details of the registration system, Sedreth."

"I sort of had to learn. This ship's registration has given pause to a few people over the past few years."

"I can imagine," said Shere drily. "Are her armaments intact?"

"They are now. The Blood Angels were good enough to have their techmarines refit the lances after we aided them against that hulk. It cleared their inventory of lance crystals that no longer fitted any vessel in service."

"Your captain Tarken must have made a good impression."

"Sara tends to do that. Brother-captain Esceriel and his company were our honoured guests on the trip to Baal; I think Lord Commander Dante had in mind to arrest us all and take the ship."

"What changed his mind?"

"I have no idea. But we did not argue. He is a fine man."

Meleriex nodded. "He is a Blood Angel. I have yet to meet a Blood Angel who was not a fine man."

"You've fought beside them, then?"

"Four times. They are not perhaps as subtle as we Raven Guard, but they are all of them extremely formidable warriors."

"They are indeed." He stepped aside to allow the two armoured marines into the lift, then came in beside them. "Have you ever met them, Shere?"

He shook his head. "No. Our Chapter is based a long way from Baal. I have met the Flesh Tearers though, of their lineage. They are most ferocious, even more than Space Wolves."

"You had better not let Sigurd hear you say that."

The three of them smiled briefly at each other. Then Meleriex spoke again. "We are astartes. We are all of us proud of our heritages and our service. Whatever our differences, they are minor compared to our shared brotherhood."

"Very true," said Sedreth. "It is why above all enemies our anger is greatest for the traitor legions."

"Indeed. There is great satisfaction is defeating such heretics," said Shere. "However dangerous they may be."

Meleriex nodded. "A perk of service in the Deathwatch. We get the opportunity to confront the traitors more often than most chapters do."

The lift doors opened and they trooped out and headed for the bridge.

* * *

Janey turned as Sedreth and his two companions came back on to the bridge. The big marine introduced Shere briefly. "Shere, this is captain Tarken's daughter Janey. She is also the ship's scan and comms officer. Janey, this is brother-astartes Shere of the Tigers Argent, attached to Lord Gustavus' Deathwatch team."

Janey smiled. "Honoured, brother-astartes Shere. Are you familiar with this type of scan system?"

Shere nodded. "To a degree, though I am not a techmarine."

Janey nodded acknowledgement, and started showing him the system. Within a few moments they were deep in a technical discussion about teleport signatures which Sedreth knew from the expressions of the rest that only he, and to a lesser degree Sara, could genuinely follow. He looked to the woman in the pilot's chair.

"Captain, with your permission, I'll re-check the alignment of those lance crystals. We haven't had cause to use them since they were fitted, and I'd like to be absolutely certain they're correct in case we need to go to full power."

She nodded. "Do that. And put your armour on. The Lord Inquisitor mentioned that he suspects traitor marines, and I'll feel a lot more comfortable if you're fully armed and armoured. No point in taking chances, but in the unlikely event they're Children, they'll want this ship as a priority."

"Yes, captain." He saluted formally, the traditional astartes salute, fist to chest, and headed for the armoury.

Gustavus watched the man go and turned back to Sara Tarken. "You disagree with my command, captain?"

She nodded. "Yes, Lord Inquisitor. In fact, I'll be putting my own armour on, if you don't mind. I've faced traitor marines before and I'd much rather do so in power armour than not."

He looked directly at her, not quite amused by her defiance. "As it happens, captain, I do mind. I may need you to play a part for me, and you cannot do so in power armour. Incidentally, where did you get such armour in the first place?"

"Here," she answered. "We found more than thirty brand-new sets of marks IV, V and VI astartes battle-plate in one of the auxiliary armouries. Sedreth was skilled enough to adapt a set for me, although we didn't alter the colour scheme. The late and unlamented captain Marius and his men were very angry to see me wearing it."

"Marius?" said Ignatius. "That is an infamous name."

She smiled briefly. "A dead name. Sedreth killed him on Plett IV."

"Indeed? That is good to know, captain. Were there witnesses?"

"Brother-captain Mendez of the Grey Knights, and his Terminator squad. It was a great honour to fight alongside such warriors."

"You actually fought beside Grey Knight Terminators?" Gustavus could hear the disbelief in his own voice. The Grey Knights were legend, even amongst the astartes.

Tarken nodded. "On Plett IV. Some cultists were attempting a summoning. Lord Daemonhunter Carline and his Grey Kights tried to stop them. Sedreth and I assisted. Lord carline lost his arm fighting a Keeper of Secrets."

Gustavus found himself nodding; he had met Carline less than a year before. the man had indeed lost an arm to a Slaaneshi daemon.

"Ha! Low polar anchor. You were correct." The exclamation came from behind them. He turned to see Shere look round bearing the tiny upturn to the corners of his mouth that was his equivalent of a wide grin. "We have them. Lord Gustavus, we have a trace. A cloaked vessel in orbit."

He gave a grim smile in return. "Well done, Shere. How did you trace it to a vessel?"

Shere chuckled. "They were good enough to teleport someone a few moments ago, Lord Gustavus. But there is more."

"Oh?"

He nodded and indicated to the child that she should speak. She nodded and went on, "The trace is the same general signature – set of frequencies – as we recorded from Haura. It must be the same Legion. They're Word Bearers."

"Word Bearers?" Gustavus knew his voice was flat with hatred but didn't care. "You are certain?"

Shere nodded. "The ship's archives are extensive, Lord Gustavus. There are many recorded teleport signals. We ran a comparison against those also. Each traitor Legion tends to the same overall set of frequencies; there is variation within that set, for each teleport machine is unique. But it is a fairly precise match."

"Have they detected you?"

"Unlikely, Lord Gustavus. We were not using active scans, merely analysing a recorded signal. They are likely aware of our presence on this vessel – we were not exactly discreet – but our purpose is not obvious."

"You have a suggestion, Shere?"

"Indeed," said the veteran with what only long experience allowed his commander to recognise as a slight smile. "I suggest we 'arrest' captain Tarken and her crew, and inform the station to clear a channel out of system. We calculate that lane seven-tau-zeta will take us past their position with the required angle and range for a lance strike and also a follow-up barrage, if necessary."

"_We_ calculate?"

Shere looked at the girl. "I have to admit that was originally her suggestion, Lord Gustavus. But I consider it a good one."

He looked at the child sitting calmly in her chair, then at her mother who was smiling quietly to herself. "Captain Tarken?"

"It is the obvious solution, Lord Inquisitor. It both explains your presence on this ship and provides an excuse to leave the dock. Seven tau zeta is a natural exit lane from our current docking."

He nodded slowly. "Captain Ignatius, if you would?"

The hard-bitten marine nodded once and reached for Tarken, lifting her out of her pilot's chair none too gently. A bolt pistol under the chin straightened her further, and a gauntleted hand pulled her head painfully backwards.

"Open a channel to the station."

Shere did so, and he spoke directly into the pickup without bothering with pleasantries. "This is Lord Inquisitor Gustavus aboard the rogue trader vessel _Eyes of the Phoenix_. The captain and crew of this ship are under arrest and I am commandeering the vessel for the Holy Inquisition. You will clear a route out of system, immediately." He glanced aside with a questioning look. "Correction. You will clear lane seven tau zeta and adjoining lanes to system ecliptic. In the Emperor's name."

A stunned controller appeared on the vid and gave a hasty acknowledgement. "At once, Lord Inquisitor. Lane seven tau zeta."

He nodded into the vid. "We will undock immediately. My own staff will release the umbilicals."

"Yes, Lord Inquistor. Shutting them down now." The man was reaching for controls as he spoke, reflexively obeying without question.

Gustavus cut the connection. "Jeremiah, Shere, get down there and release umbilicals. Captain Tarken, bring the ship to ready." There was a flurry of movement as his people moved to their assigned tasks. Ignatius released the captain and moved to the scan console.

"Child, can you show me where the teleport trace originated?" he asked.

She nodded, pointing out positions on the holoscreens. Tarken started running through undock and power-up procedures in a business-like and highly proficient manner, apparently unaffected by Ignatius' forceful versimilitude. Gustavus found his opinion of the woman going up another notch.

"Lord Inquisitor, we have two options, depending on how you want to handle the cloaked ship," she said in a calm tone.

"Oh?"

She brought up a large holo-display of the immediate system with two red course plots on it and one green intercept, gesturing as she spoke.

"The cloaked ship is at low anchor here; it's hard to be absolutely precise, but they are within this area, which is more than covered by a standard lance strike. As you can see their course options from their current orbit are limited. If we take this course in the lane, we can fire from this point here after a slightly non-standard but still fairly normal course adjustment. We may not hit anything vital, depending on what class of ship it is, but we will hit it. The follow-up broadside should cripple anything short of a battle-barge; they will not have time to raise shields, which will perforce be down while it's cloaked. The question is, do you want it destroyed, or do you want to board? A full-power strike from _Phoenix_ will destroy most vessels quite easily."

Ignatius looked round. "It must be destroyed. We have a location on the surface where the heretics teleported to. The kill-team should take that place, whatever it is. Eliminating any surface cultists is as important as taking the traitor ship. In any case, we do not want to give them any chance to teleport to the surface or to this ship."

Gustavus nodded. "I agree. How close can you put us to the enemy's surface location?"

The girl looked up. "Anything up to twenty metres, but not closer. There's a lot of rock; I'll have to put your team as close to the entrance as I can. Mummy can send an orbital strike just before you go down; that should remove any guards. Or booby traps."

"It will also eliminate any evidence, child."

She looked thoughtful, then nodded. "Alright. I better put you down further away then. Brother-captain, do you want me to put you down in any specific formation?"

Ignatius nodded. "If you can, put Meleriex on point about thirty metres from the entrance, about here. The rest of us will come in from sixty metres up that valley." He pointed to the display.

"Right. Can you synch to my tacscan?"

The captain looked carefully at the console. "It seems standard. Try synching to my armour. Codex protocol eight-flame."

She flipped switches. "Tactical scan online. Have you read-outs, brother-captain?"

Ignatius nodded. "Yes. Clean signal. You are aware of standard tactical designations?"

A smile. "I run tacscan for mummy and Mr Morgan all the time. You use only codex protocols?"

"Yes, series seven delta on this mission."

"That's fine. I've used those before. Loading tactical databases now; you should be getting full schematics."

Gustavus watched the two of them, all business, for a second, and turned back to the pilot.

"Umbilicals released. All green. Morgan, how are those lances?"

"They're fine, Sara. Focussing should be nominal. How does it show?" came the deep voice from the overhead.

She looked across at some read-outs on the neighbouring station. "Yes, all nominal, Morgan. You better get out of there; I'm going to warm them up."

There was a brief pause, then, "I'm clear." She started flicking switches, glancing briefly up at him.

"If I warm the lances up with minimal power, it won't be obvious, but it will allow us to charge them faster. The main batteries can be ready behind the shutters."

He nodded, impressed despite himself. "You are very professional, captain."

"We practice a lot. You never know when you'll need to defend yourselves."

Shere and Jeremiah reappeared. He let Ignatius brief the squad; although he often fought beside them, Gustavus was not a space marine, and he knew it. Once down, he took orders where necessary, trusting Ignatius' judgement from long experience. Only if a daemon appeared would he take more direct command; he alone had the psycannon necessary to deal speedily with such entities. Not that warp entities were invulnerable to the marines' weaponry, but normal bolts and mêlée weapons tended to take time to kill daemons, and they didn't usually have time to spare.

"Lord Gustavus, I suggest that the team go in first; you remain on board until we are clear."

He shook his head. "No, captain. I will go in with the team."

Ignatius nodded. "As you command. Standard deployment gamma three, then. Captain Tarken, we will want 'porting down as soon as you open fire. Can you handle that?"

The girl nodded and smiled. "I have the coordinates locked already, brother-captain. As soon as we open fire, I'll put your team down."

Tarken spoke into the pickup. "Morgan, we're en route. Ship weaponry is shifted to your station. I'll handle nav and manoeuvre. Janey has the kill-team's tacscan."

"I'm on my way, Sara. This armour was never designed for tight spaces."

She laughed. "Two minutes, Morgan. We'll be in range in three."

"Two minutes," came back the acknowledgement.


	22. Chapter Twenty-one

**Chapter Twenty-one**

a/n this chapter was originally part of chapter twenty; I split them for ease of loading and (cos I'm like that) to give you all a little cliffie. But really twenty and twenty-one need to be read together, so here it is.

* * *

Brother Cerlin watched the vid with glee; only endless centuries of discipline kept the grin from his face. "Brother-sergeant, that Inquisitor has taken the woman Tarken into custody. They're undocking now to leave the system."

Sergeant Lomin Annassios chuckled. "Definitely a worthwhile sacrifice, then. The captain was right. Bringing that female into contact with the Inquisition gets both of them out of our hair."

"And with them gone, we can turn this planet to the worship of the true gods by subverting the Trad Festival," said Cerlin with satisfaction. "Blessed Lorgar will be pleased."

There was general laughter from the small group, then Annassios quieted them. "That's all fine, but we have a mission to accomplish here. The captain and the chaplain want us ready to 'port down to impress the locals with the power we have. So make ready; we need to look as much like imperial space marines as possible. For now, anyway."

The five warriors moved to obey. Annassios turned back to Cerlin. "Are all systems working correctly?"

"Yes, brother-sergeant. The ship's machine spirit is sated from our last sacrifice, and the cloak is protecting us from detection."

"Good. Track that ship. If it makes any suspicious move be ready."

"I am patched into the station feed; it is the best we can do without powering up our scans, and that would be detectable."

"That is acceptable." Annassios moved away to finish his preparations. Cerlin turned back to his displays.

* * *

"Coming up on our course correction. Teleport range in one minute." Sara thought of calling for Morgan, but heard instead the familiar heavy tread in the adjacent corridor. A thought struck her.

"Morgan, could you pick up additional bolters for the bridge crew, please?"

"Of course, Sara." The massive footsteps paused, then turned and faded slightly as Sedreth walked into the aux armoury where they kept the bridge weaponry. She noticed Ignatius looked at her keenly.

"Sedreth wears Terminator armour?"

She nodded. "His own was ruined; Tech-captain Vivane and his techmarines were good enough to repair a damaged set we had aboard."

"Oh?"

She smiled at the slight query in his gaze. "Indeed. There were more than a hundred sets of astartes armour, mostly marks IV and V, in storage awaiting a repair that had never come. Codex armour of the Emperor's Children. From the records we could find, they were mostly from casualties of the Murder campaign, world one-forty-twenty, fought alongside the Blood Angels, together with about thirty unworn replacement sets. Amongst those was sufficient tactical dreadnought armour to make two full Indomitus-pattern sets. The second suit remains on Baal, in the colours of the Ninth. We thought it appropriate since its last owner died beside Blood Angels."

Ignatius nodded, almost approvingly. "That is a great gift. Many astartes Chapters have insufficient Terminator armour to outfit a full company."

"Mummy, course change in ten seconds."

* * *

Cerlin watched the patterns suspiciously. Hmm. That wasn't quite right. There was no need for that course change. "Sergeant, that ship just changed course. It's efficient, but not standard for that lane. It will take them within forty thousand klicks of our current position." Easy gunnery range, he thought with a sudden chill of premonition.

Annassios was at his side in seconds. "Show me."

Cerlin did so. "I can get vid at this range. Do you want a close-up?"

The albino sergeant nodded, his redly daemonic eyes cold. Cerlin brought it up on the main screen.

"What in Lorgar's name? That is no trader ship. That's a strike cruiser class."

Annassios snarled in sudden anger. "We're made. Don't ask me how, but we are. Bring the shields and engines up and get us out of here. We can't fight that thing. Battle stations. Move."

Armoured bodies flung themselves into the command chairs as Cerlin brought the shields up. There was a flare of light on the vidscreen.

"Incoming lance fire!" yelled Stabbo.

"Manoeuvre! Emergency evasion pattern delta," bellowed the sergeant as the ship shook to its core and the lights flickered.

"Direct hit. Venting plasma on decks four and five," came the dead voice of a service slave, its once human form no longer capable of emotion.

Cerlin cursed as the lights dimmed again. This time they stayed dimmed. "Shields took part of it, but they're down. Drives are offline. We're a sitting target."

"It's firing again. Full broadside. Impact in..., fifteen seconds."

Annassios cursed obscenely.

Cerlin worked his controls frantically. "Sergeant, I can 'port you aboard it manually using the emergency power."

The other grinned viciously, showing a mouthful of cruel fangs. "Then we shall take some of them with us. Do it."

Cerlin nodded and pushed the controls, seeing his brothers' last salute even as they vanished. He turned to face the incoming barrage and pulled himself to attention.

"Blessed be the Day."

The world erupted in fire; there was pain, then nothing.

* * *

"Porting now, Lord Gustavus. Emperor's Light go with you," said the child. There was a flare of energy and the bridge vanished to be replaced by rocky scrubland. Gustavus glanced at his tacscan; perfect. Exactly where they should be. He followed Ignatius as the squad advanced on the enemy position.

"Two obvious sentries," reported Meleriex quietly from up ahead. "Cultists. There should be at least one traitor marine somewhere. Hold until I deal with him."

"Acknowledged. Squad, hold positions. _Phoenix_, do you have anything?"

"Power armour signature approx twenty metres from you, brother-sergeant, moving at slow walk sector alpha-two-flame."

"I have him. Moving in."

There was a brief pause. Then, "Enemy eliminated. Word Bearer tactical marine."

Ignatius' voice was calmness personified. "Move up. Prepare for assault."

* * *

Sergeant Annassios arrived in a suspiciously empty corridor, a long, bare lane of gleaming metal. He moved cautiously to a cross-corridor, trying vainly to get a fix on the rest of the squad. Nothing. No servitors, no crew, no-one. What in Holy Lorgar's name was going on?

"This is Annassios. Report."

"Stabbo here, sergeant. I'm in the main hangar. It's empty; not even a shuttle. No crew, no servitors, no signs of life."

"Vicente here, sergeant. I arrived in an empty chamber of some kind. The corridor beyond is empty; I think I'm near the bow. No signs of life, but I can see an aquila on the wall of a cross-corridor from my position. Based on the size of that corridor, it's the main processional."

He waited for several seconds, then decided that Koreth must have failed to 'port, or 'ported into vacuum. Either way, he was dead. Like Cerlin, brave warrior that he was.

"Alright. It's just the three of us. Find out your location, and stay alert. The ship must be short of crew. If you meet opposition, try and make it silent. No point in alerting whoever is actually aboard. Report at five minute intervals."

He kept his bolter ready as he moved slowly along the corridor, searching for some sign to indicate where he and his men might be.

An oath came through the vox, early. Vicente. "What is it, Vicente?"

"I'm in the main processional all right, brother-sergeant. There's more than just aquilas on the walls. There's the winged talon. The _codex_ winged talon."

"_Imperial_ Emperor's Children? That's impossible. They all died ten thousand years ago."

"I know, brother-sergeant, but I'd know that sigil anywhere."

"Brother-sergeant, wasn't there a rumour that one of those effete bastards turned his coat? About twenty years ago? Something to do with Ahriman, the Sorcerer of the Thousand Sons."

Annassios thought for a second. "Yes. You're right, Stabbo. This might be his ship. Holy Lorgar will be pleased if we killed _him_." He smiled grimly to himself. "Stay alert; if this _is_ his ship, he will be a dangerous opponent, to say nothing of any of that accursed Deathwatch team." Yes, the Blessed Primarch Lorgar would be pleased.

* * *

"Sigurd, movement behind to your left, seven o'clock."

"Acknowledged," came the deep rumble. The vox briefly rattled as the Space Wolf turned his heavy bolter on the cultists trying to flank him. Janey barely noticed.

"Lord Gustavus, I'm starting to get interference in the scan signal. It's consistent with daemonic presence. Heaviest directly ahead of you, sectors gamma-three and four."

"I see it. Possessed space marine. I'll deal with it, Ignatius, push on, don't let them regroup."

Gustavus opened fire with his psycannon on the glowing entity, ignoring the traitor marines flanking its charge across the rough-hewn stone floor. The bright-star impacts of his blessed bolts, each of them a potent anti-daemonic item in its own right, slammed into the thing's armour. It bellowed in rage and pain, but didn't stop coming and he stepped in with his holy relic powersword, meeting charge for charge and fury for fury. "For the Emperor!"

Someone stepped up beside him, engaging the surviving Word Bearer unarmed with savage brutality. Sigurd, his heavy bolter lost, presumably damaged. It made little difference; the powerful Space Wolf was almost as devastating in hand-to-hand combat as he was with heavy weapons. A massive blow smashed the traitor backwards, then the thrust of an armoured gauntlet, fingers extended, drove in under his throat, almost tearing the man's head off.

Gustavus pressed his psycannon one-handed against the daemon thing, and held the trigger down. It disintegrated with a frustrated scream. He ran forward to engage another warrior as Sigurd retrieved his heavy bolter and its merciless thunder echoed anew through the chamber.

Ahead of him, Ignatius was engaged with a massive warrior in black power armour – a captain or champion of some kind. He saw Jeremiah wading into a group of cultists with bolt pistol and combat knife; Meleriex was fighting two scarlet-armoured Word Bearers at once, his lightning claws a lethal advantage at close quarters. He glanced around, looking for Shere, and saw the warrior on one knee, blood and gore showing through the remnants of his pelvic armour, firing as calmly as he did at target practice with short controlled bursts of bolter fire. Three dead Word Bearers lay around him, testimony to how he'd got the injury in the first place. One of them had been cut neatly in two, probably by Meleriex's claws.

Gustavus leapt to meet another heretic, only for the man's head to explode courtesy of a burst of fire. He glanced round again. There was just Ignatius' opponent left, and then he was down too, a lethal sword-stroke cutting him down the middle.

"Casualties? Injuries?" he asked.

Shere spoke quietly. "My hip's broken, Lord Inquisitor. It will not take any weight; I cannot stand unaided."

"Nothing serious," said Jeremiah. "Stick fracture of my left forearm. My fighting capacity is unimpaired." His vambrace was indeed deeply scarred.

"Nothing that will not heal quickly, Lord Inquisitor," came Ignatius' response.

Sigurd helped Shere to his feet.

"I must be getting old," said the Tigers Argent marine, one arm over the Space Wolf's shoulder.

"Ten centimetres to the left and you wouldn't be getting any older, my friend," said his helper.

"Anyone else?"

The others proved to have only minor injuries. "We took them by surprise, I think. They were unprepared for an attack," said Ignatius.

"Just as well. Eleven Word Bearers. If they'd had time to set for us, we could have been in trouble. As it was, we could easily have lost this fight. The Emperor was with us today."

"Indeed, Jeremiah. But we are victorious. Meleriex, you and Jeremiah search this den; I want evidence of their plans. Shere, you return to _Eyes of the Phoenix_ and get that injury seen to. Sigurd, you and captain Ignatius do a sweep of the immediate area. See if you can pick up any stragglers. I shall see if any of the dead have identification."

The immediate chorus of 'yes, Lord Gustavus' was followed by rapid, practised movement as the team went about their business.

* * *

"Mr Morgan, I'm picking up power armour signatures on decks seven, eight and eleven. They seem to be converging towards the chapel. I think we may have been boarded."

"How many?"

"Just the three."

He gave a grim smile. "I shall deal with them. Sara, in the meantime, put your armour on. Janey, seal the bridge; only open for me or your mother."

She nodded. "What about Lord Gustavus and his men?"

"Inform them that we have intruders and are dealing with them."

Annassios smiled slowly as Stabbo came into view, followed immediately by Vicente. Three Word Bearers was enough to take any ship. They flanked him without needing orders and the three advanced on the great polished doors through which they could make out the ship's chapel. Surely, if there were anyone aboard other than on the bridge, they would be here.

Nothing. Then, very slowly, the doors started to close. He glanced round.

A voice, a girl-child's voice, light and soft, came clearly over the ship's internal speaker system. "The traitors known as Word Bearers may not enter the Hall of Remembrance."

That old concept? He snorted in contempt. "Who's going to stop us?"

A deep male voice, distorted by suit external speakers, answered from a connecting corridor. "I am."

The marine stepped out into clear view and Annassios hesitated, such was the shock. A Terminator? An _Emperor's Children_ Terminator? Beside him Vicente opened fire and he instinctively followed suit, the bolts smashing into the massive armoured form. Stabbo whipped grenades from his utility belt and threw them, enveloping the warrior – it had to be the traitor Sedreth – in shrapnel and concussive force. The man seemed to ignore it all, his stormbolter rising regardless. For a split second, time seemed to stand still, then the air filled with the thunderous roar of Terminator weaponry. Vicente was cut in two by a long burst, and Annassios took the only, terribly slender, chance they had. He pulled his chainsword and charged, his brother beside him.

Sedreth watched the two Word Bearers dispassionately. Brave. Foolish, but brave. He coolly picked the left-most one, who had thrown the grenades, and emptied his stormbolter into the warrior's chest, then drew his – formerly Carline's – powersword in a swift easy motion. The sword-fight didn't last long, the outmatched chainsword cut in half with its owner as he vainly tried to parry. He moved to each of the others and beheaded them. Just in case.

"Janey, three dead Word Bearers by the chapel. Any other signals?"

"Negative, Mr Morgan. I'm teleporting brother Shere aboard right now. He's been badly wounded. Could you go to the medical stores and get the diagnostic couch there? It works now; Apothecary Justinian was good enough to have one of the techmarines repair the one we found in storage."

"On my way, Janey." Badly wounded? For an astartes, that meant something that would have crippled or killed a lesser man. His strides were rapid and purposeful as he went for the medical equipment.

* * *

Shere winced inwardly as the armoured woman helped him to the spacious chamber they used for medical treatment. He was glad his helmet kept her from seeing how much pain he was in. It would not do for a civilian to see a space marine show signs of weakness.

"You wear the armour of the Emperor's Children, captain?" He spoke mostly to distract himself from the pain.

She nodded. "It protects well, brother-astartes. And I like the reaction it causes with the Emperor's enemies."

"That is a Black Templars purity seal."

She put an arm under his right shoulder for him to lean on; he couldn't help but use it. "An honour I try to live up to. I am not sure I deserve it, but I make the attempt to be worthy anyway; it keeps me working when I remember brother-captain Abdiel and all of his men who we were not in time for."

"Oh?" He was barely listening, merely trying to keep himself distracted from the effort of walking, even supported.

"They were engaged with a hive fleet spur in the Caltenis system. We only got there in time to teleport the survivors off the last ship just before she detonated her engines. Everything we had, lances and broadsides, was enough to open a thirty-second teleport window. And it was no good. We got five people off. All of them died of their wounds."

"How many Black Templars?"

"Seven companies. Seven strike cruisers and their entire compliments. Plus forty-odd thousand civilians and guardsmen who couldn't be evacuated."

Seven hundred space marines? That was a grievous loss to the Imperium. "The planetary governor should have been shot for incompetence."

"He died too. The colony detonated its powerplants on his orders. He refused to be evacuated." She half-lifted him onto a heavy diagnostic gurney, the strain of the effort evident on her face despite the power armour.

Shere winced as he lay down. "My apologies. I should not have spoken badly of the dead."

"I'm sure the dead will forgive you, brother. Now lie back and save your strength. Even space marine bodies have limits."

He lay back as directed, and let her let her remove his helmet. She shone a light into his eyes and nodded, then ran a slim diagnostic wand over his pelvic area.

Her voice showed concern under the professional calm. "You have multiple fractures and your left hip joint is shattered. I'm sure it can be healed, but not by me. This needs a specialist. There are fragments of armour and the bolts that hit you embedded right into the bone. If you were a normal human, you'd have been cut in half."

"We are a long way from an apothecary. But we have a medical servitor on our own ship," he replied.

She smiled slightly. "Good. You will need its services. And sooner rather than later, I suggest. Your body is already trying to knit itself back together. And you don't want it to do so incorrectly."

"No." He didn't want that; he could not serve the Emperor properly as a cripple. And the Tigers Argent did not believe in prosthetics – the purity of the human form was important.

"Then relax, as far as you can. I have to get back to the bridge. Morgan's a fine pilot and will make a clean dock, but I like the controls in my own hands. Just in case there are more of those Word Bearer bastards out there."

He nodded. "Go. I shall be fine until treated."

"Yes, Lord Inquisitor," said Janey. "Brother Shere is in our infirmary, such as it is. But mummy, sorry, captain Tarken, says his pelvis is shattered. He will need extensive treatment if he is to heal without long-term problems in movement."

"Very well. I need you to 'port up captain Ignatius, sergeant Meleriex and brother Jeremiah. Myself and brother Sigurd will finish our search here. We also have one cultist prisoner. Have you the facilities to hold him?"

"Uhm, I don't know. We don't have a holding cell. But we could disable the locks on one of the old crew rooms. They're empty."

"That will suffice for the moment. Do that. Jeremiah can stand guard."

"Affirmative, Lord Inquisitor. Uh, there is one thing."

"What?"

"The local Navy squadron hasn't contacted us, sir. Not when we opened fire, or even when we came into dock again. It just … well, it's strange, that's all."

The Inquisitor's voice was frigid and hard. "Yes. It is. When I return aboard, I shall have some questions to ask of those captains." The innocuous phrase held a chilling promise. Janey was suddenly very glad the Inquisitor was on their side.

"Yes, sir. Four to 'port?"

"Four to 'port. You have lock?"

"Affirmative. 'Porting in ten."


	23. Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-two

Katrin Verstark lay where she had fallen behind the auxiliary scan console. Just feet away she could see Lieutenant Hethlin's dead eyes, the bright brown dulled with anoxia. She tried to close her ears to the screams coming from the captain's command throne, where Captain Stolle was laughingly raping his second-in-command, Commander Casoblien. She wondered why she was still alive; the intruders must have missed her. Emperor, what were they? What was happening?

She tried to think through what had happened. So fast. One moment they'd been operating as normal, the next that ship had opened fire on a small cloaked vessel at low polar anchor. There'd been flares of light and huge armoured figures had appeared as if by magic, teleported aboard. Then there was just the thunder of gunfire, confused screams and pain and blackness. She'd been shot, she thought. A laser bolt, not the explosive rounds that had ripped Hethlin's chest open in a spray of viscera and gore. Must have been one of the crew; she must have lost consciousness.

A dreadful voice echoed across the bridge, rough and passionate and devouring. "Captain, when you're finished with your amusements, we have a mission to complete. The Exalted Eidolon does not appreciate dalliance."

Stolle's reply was casual. "Of course, Lord." A loud slap followed by a gasp of pain. "Shut up, you. Would one of your brothers care to keep my little prize here safe and sound while I open a channel to the enemy? We may as well keep them quiescent at dock for a few moments longer."

The voice laughed, a hideous cruelty of satisfaction. "An excellent idea. You will be a fine addition to the Legion's battle-fleet, captain."

Stolle's laugh was equally smug. "I have looked forward to it for decades. Matreg, open a channel to the Inquisitor's ship. And make sure the vid shows only me, not any of our friends. Or I will be displeased."

Lieutenant Matreg's familiar voice was utterly normal. "Yes, captain."

* * *

Sara came back onto the bridge as Janey was operating the teleport. She slid into her command chair and read off the scan information. A light came on. "We're being hailed. _INS Golden Dawn_." She opened the channel.

A florid-faced greying man in Imperial Naval uniform looked out at her. "Captain Stolle, here, Imperial Navy, for Lord Inquisitor Gustavus."

"I'm afraid Lord Gustavus is still on-world, captain. I am captain Sara Tarken. Can I assist you?"

"I see. You can remain at dock, captain. I shall be sending men across to discuss your actions shortly."

Sara nodded. "Of course, captain Stolle. We shall await your arrival. His Grace on you. _Eyes of the Phoenix_ out." She cut the channel and looked around the bridge.

"Is it just me, or did that not seem quite right?"

"It is not just you, Sara," rumbled Sedreth's deep bass. "Janey, what is their course?"

"They're taking a standard lane towards the station, with _INS Tenryu_ and a large freighter, Mr Morgan. ETA twenty-seven minutes."

"A freighter?"

She nodded. "It was sort of just within lane discipline earlier, but now it seems to be under escort from the two warships. But there's been no signal about it."

"There's no reason they should have signalled, of course. Any coded traffic?"

Janey nodded. "Yes, Mr Morgan. But we don't have access to Imperial Navy codes."

"Inquisitors do." He reached for the internal comms. "Captain Ignatius? Can you and sergeant Meleriex come to the bridge please? We may have a problem."

Neither Ignatius nor Meleriex reacted much to Sedreth and Sara's armour colours, the captain's eyes merely widening a fraction and the Raven Guard's stoic demeanour appearing, very briefly, almost satisfied.

"What problem, captain?"

Sara indicated the main viewer, where the three approaching ships were moving in leisurely formation towards the station.

"Can you decode what they're saying?"

Ignatius looked puzzled. "Why? Don't you trust the Imperial Navy, captain?"

She felt a tight grin pull at her face. "I don't trust _anyone_, brother-captain. Except the Emperor's astartes. Mostly."

"Mostly?"

"I, we, have more reason than most to know that even the space marines are not infallible. However, that's beside the point. The behaviour of that Navy squadron is unusual. We survive, in part, by not trusting the unusual, captain."

He looked at her for a long moment. "Patch me the transmissions."

She nodded to Janey, who worked her controls easily and naturally. After a few moments, Ignatius face took on a puzzled expression.

"Those transmissions do not match any in my systems. Meleriex?"

"I concur, captain. You are certain this is correct, child?"

Janey nodded.

"Then they are not current, or even out of date, Naval codes. If anything, I'd suggest, brother-captain, that they are astartes codes. But not ones I recognise."

Sara felt herself pale as she looked at Sedreth. The big Terminator was on his feet, face grim.

"Janey, run decoding patterns gamma-four through seven. Put it on the speakers."

There was a series of clicks and crackles and hisses for several minutes then a sudden voice came clearly through, a cruel, horrific parody of human speech. "...inates for boarding action. Remember, Exalted Eidolon wants that ship intact and its crew alive, if possible. The traitor must pay for his apostasy."

"In Slaanesh's glorious name, Lord. For the Emperor."

Sedreth's face was a snarl. "I know that voice. The Emperor's Children. They'll tear the system apart once they're finished with us. If they win. Emergency undock, Sara, to hell with the umbilicals. Give me comm, Janey. You two had better ready your weapons and warn the Inquisitor; we're about to have unpleasant visitors."

Ignatius and Meleriex were already racking bolters, their faces cold. Janey reached for her own bolt pistol and slammed a round into the chamber before clipping it back in position and opening the main channel.

Sedreth's voice was calm, even conversational. "This is brother-sergeant Morgan Sedreth aboard _Eyes of the Phoenix_, calling captain Kaeseron on _Golden Dawn_. It's been a long time, Julius. Are you still Eidolon's lapdog, then? Did he honestly think a decadent jackass like you could take me? Or was he just too cowardly to face me himself?"

There was a few seconds of stark silence as Sedreth's voice interrupted the coded transmissions. Then the terrible voice answered, reverberating with anger. "Your death will last an eternity, Sedreth. My word on it."

"You always did talk a good fight. Pity you and your company could never back it up." Sedreth's tone was contemptuous even if his expression was anything but.

The answer dripped with venomous purpose. "You will have the opportunity to see exactly how well my company fights, traitor. Once we have done with you we shall ensure you have the best possible view as we remind these pathetic mortals which power truly rules the cosmos."

Sara cut umbilicals and grapples, bringing the engines to maximum in defiance of half a hundred safety regulations. Janey was flicking switches, bringing shields, Geller fields and targeting scans live. Sedreth was likewise at weapons control, causing the familiar faint rumble as the heavily armoured gunnery shields retracted to reveal _Phoenix_'s massive broadside.

Ignatius was talking rapidly into his vox, updating Lord Gustavus on the developing crisis. He reached for a vox pickup and Janey opened the general system hail without missing a beat.

Sara saw the system channel monitor on her left come to life and the ominous black-armoured Deathwatch captain appear. "This is brother-captain Ignatius, on behalf of Lord Inquisitor Rein Gustavus of the Ordo Malleus, to all ships and personnel in the Meyis system. The vessels _INS Golden Dawn _and _INS Tenryu_, together with the freighter _Prosperity's Luck,_ are under control of traitors and to be considered hostile. All loyal vessels are ordered to open fire on these ships with all available weaponry. If by any chance there remain loyal warriors of His Glorious Majesty the Emperor aboard any of the three named vessels, you are ordered to fight to the last against the heretics who have taken your ship. Meyis station, you are ordered in the Emperor's name to open fire with all weapons against the named vessels. His Light be on you all."

Immediately the comms channels erupted with transmissions, ship captains, station military, and civilian and downworld authorities demanding answers. She ignored the babble, leaving it to the space marine, and punched in the main drives, accelerating them away from the vulnerable docks.

* * *

"Bastard," cursed one of the armoured warriors. "He dares to defy the Children? Lord, he must pay in suffering."

"Are you telling me my business, Selek?" asked the terrifying figure in the command throne, its voice the more terrifying for the tone of mild inquiry.

"No, Lord. I merely thirst for vengeance on the traitor." The chaos marine's trepidation was clear even through the calmness of his response. Katrin wondered how awful the commander must be to terrify even these monsters. She carefully, centimetre by centimetre, slipped her sidearm from its holster. There was no chance of killing an armoured space marine with it, she knew, but maybe she might get a chance at the traitorous swine who had been her captain.

"Lord, they are sending out a general broadcast."

"On screen."

She heard the deep calm voice. The Ordo Malleus! Perhaps there was a chance if the Inquisition had astartes too.

A terrifying laugh. "So, Sedreth has found himself some allies, more deluded and foolish servants of the corpse-emperor. A Deathwatch kill-team, no less. Almost worthy opposition. How long before we are in teleport range?"

"They are attempting to move away from us, Lord. It will be insufficient, but will delay our reaching teleport range by several minutes."

"That was not my question, mortal."

Matreg's voice trembled. "No, Lord. Estimate another twelve minutes. _Prosperity's Luck_ has not the in-system drives to reduce that time."

"We do."

"Yes, Lord. If we increase to maximum velocity, we can be in range in perhaps four minutes."

"Then do so. But first, 'port two more squads here. Your crew still may harbour thoughts of resistance, captain Stolle. The Emperor's Children will ensure such thoughts are forgotten."

The Emperor's Children?! Why would followers of chaos call themselves by such a name?

"Lord, the enemy have opened fire on _Tenryu_."

"Then return fire, idiot."

"We are not in range yet, Lord. Another few seconds. _Tenryu_ has opened fire."

* * *

Reti watched in horror as a full-scale firefight erupted in the system. He had watched and listened as the space marine captain had called on all loyal citizens to fight against the heretics, but he could barely believe that the _Golden Dawn_ was a traitor vessel. It had been stationed at Meyis for more than half a century, and had a long-standing training arrangement with the local Naval Academy.

Supervisor Plortis had taken one look at the broadcast message and dashed off somewhere. Reti hesitated at his controls, unsure what to do.

The comm light came on, audio only. He pushed the switch. A desperate voice came over the pick-up.

"This is petty officer Angers on _INS Tenryu_. We have been boarded by chaos marines. Request immediate ass.." There was sudden roar of gunfire and the transmission cut off with a scream.

Reti winced. He had friends aboard that ship. Men and women he'd known at school. He squared his shoulders and reached for the emergency lap belt. He knew what to do now.

"Lord, the station just raised its defensive systems. Its shields are not at full power yet, but they are building rapidly."

"Ignore it. No space station can be defended against my warriors. Prepare for boarding. I want the traitor. Alive, if possible."

"Lord Gustavus, we are taking minor fire, but will be in a position to 'port you and Sigurd aboard in three minutes."

"Negative, Ignatius. Can you instead send us aboard the traitor ship? There may still be loyalist crew fighting. We owe it to them to assist if possible."

Sedreth cut in. "Lord Gustavus, that's Julius Kaeseron on _Golden Dawn_. I've known him since the Great Crusade. He will have a whole company with him, possibly more. And they will not have taken noticeable casualties taking a light ship like that one. Especially with inside help. Sending you aboard would be suicide. More to the point, it would be militarily futile."

"We cannot abandon loyal Imperial warriors to the senseless sadism of your former brethren, Sedreth. That was not a request."

"Then at least wait until they board us."

"What?"

"I know Julius. He'll want to make it close and personal. Even if those two ships he has could take us, which I doubt, he will want to get aboard and kill me face to face. He and his warriors will board as soon as they're in range to do so. That will leave only a few for you and Sigurd to deal with. You might be able to take the bridge; they'll have to drop any preventative measures they may have put up long enough to 'port themselves here."

"Very well. Do it that way."

"When you meet the Emperor, Inquisitor, you'll be able to stand proud."

* * *

"Mr Morgan, Geller fields are ready on your mark."

"Are we in range?"

"Yes, Mr Morgan. Energy build-up on _Golden Dawn_. I think they're getting ready to 'port a lot of marines."

"Full power to the fields in one minute, Janey."

"Firing solution on the _Tenryu_. Full lances."

"Direct hit. She's venting plasma. Rolling to present a different shield."

"Lord, _Prosperity's Luck_ just took a direct hit from the station weapons. Her drives are damaged."

"She has served her purpose. Transport the remaining warriors aboard _Tenryu_. They are to take the station."

"Yes, Lord. Teleport to _Eyes of the Phoenix_ in thirty seconds."

"Now, Janey. Geller fields on full."

"On full, Mr Morgan."

"Sara, evasive manoeuvres."

"Teleport flares in all sections. We're being boarded."

"Janey, 'port the Lord Inquisitor."

"Teleport flares on decks six, nine, eleven and fifteen, Mr Morgan. Teleporting Lord Gustavus and brother Sigurd now."

"Firing solution on _INS Tenryu_. Starboard broadside locked. Shoot."

"Seven direct hits. Her shields are down and the hull is open to vacuum."

The screens flared. "This is brother-captain Ignatius to Meyis station. Good shooting."

"_INS Tenryu_ destroyed."

* * *

Katrin bit back a whimper as flares of light engulfed the bridge and more grotesque black-and-pastel figures appeared.

"Stolle, maintain the action. Take out that station's weapons. The Children have other prey."

"Yes, lord. As you command."

More flares of light and most of the armoured monsters in her restricted view vanished.

A third set of flares and a bellow. A human bellow. "In His Glorious Name! Death to all heretics!" The bridge echoed to the thunder of weapons and she dared look up.

A massive black-armoured figure stood just a metre from her, a huge weapon juddering in his hands. "For Russ and the Emperor!" Beside him a second armoured man, this time in crimson bearing the aquila and hammer of the Inquisition on his shoulder plate, bellowed defiance while pouring shots into an unseen target.

The Inquisitor, and a loyal marine? But how? It didn't matter. She pulled herself to her knees, raising her side-arm painfully. Lieutenant Matreg fired a shot, which bounced off the marine's armour, and ducked back quickly behind a console, his back to her. She took careful aim and squeezed the trigger, the point-blank blast tearing a smoking hole in his chest. Matreg died without ever knowing who had shot him. She looked for another target amidst the confusion.

"For the Emperor!"

She didn't understand why the traitor marines had that warcry, but it was obvious that there were too many of them for the brave Inquisitor and his companion to handle alone. She grimaced. They were not alone. For what good it was, they had her. She fired her pistol at the horrific unarmoured face of an enemy, burning the bald pink head to the bone and severing one of the long tentacles that fringed it instead of hair. The warrior turned his remaining eye on her with an awful hatred but was blasted backwards in bloody ruin by a thunderous burst of bolter fire.

"INKAMETIBNKASIET!" bellowed the Inquisitor, and the traitor marines screamed in rage and pain, staggering backwards as if stunned. The black-armoured astartes took full advantage, killing three of them in an eyeblink. But one, a massive warrior with an evilly glowing sword, lunged forward to engage the Inquisitor. The remaining two leapt for his companion, one of them casually kicking her in the ribcage as he passed and sending her flying across the bridge, horribly certain that her ribs were broken. She slammed into a console and felt something give painfully in her left shoulder; her vision blurred with pain as she tried to focus on the fight.

"For the Emperor! For Holy Terra and humanity!" Gustavus roared, as he engaged the enemy champion. Astartes or not, the traitor was going to fall before him. A dazzling riposte from the other's blade drove it deep into his side, cutting through his blessed armour like it was cheese. He grabbed the blade with all his strength, ignoring the pain, and swung hard and accurately, the relic edge severing the man's sword-arm. Blood as black as pitch poured out and the warrior bellowed in fury, pulling a bolt pistol from his belt and pouring shots into the crimson Inquisition battle-plate.

"Not good enough, traitor," he managed, thrusting his powersword through the monster's chest-plate with all the strength he had left. The traitor marine howled, still shooting despite the terrible injuries. What did it take to kill the thing? He twisted his blade and the warrior shuddered and spasmed.

An arm wrapped round his throat from behind. "You're not spoiling my chance of power, Inquisitor," came a voice in his ear and something hard and sharp drove into his neck. The last thing he saw in life was the familiar blinding blue light of a las-pistol burst; the last he heard was the scream of agony in his ear as the man who'd stabbed him took the focussed energy beam right in his face. Then there was pain, then quiet as the light turned gold. 'My Emperor.'

Sigurd drove his combat blade through the second marine's gorget, ripping a huge tear in the man's throat and dropping him in a welter of blood and arterial gore. A chainsword slammed down into his shoulder-plate, shattering it, but the armour did its job enough for him to knock the whirring teeth aside before he was injured. He grappled the swordsman, knocking the weapon from the other's hand but losing his own. They rolled across the blood-slicked metal deck-plates, punching and gouging in elemental fury.

Unfortunately for the traitor, Space Wolves spent long hours practising wrestling and unarmed combat. Sigurd smashed his helmet into the other's, not to stun – that would not happen to an armoured warrior – but to get underneath, for leverage. His mighty arms followed up the blow, gripping under the ceramite and forcing the head back. And back.

Ignoring the massive blows to his sides and head, blows that cracked armour, he forced the other's head back and up. The blows became feebler and the other's hands pulled desperately at his arms in a futile attempt to relieve the horrific pressure. Even an astartes' neck couldn't take that for long, and there was a satisfying crack as it finally broke. Sigurd thrust the man off him, and pulled his bolt pistol, firing two shots deliberately into the traitor's head, then turned in time to see Lord Gustavus collapse with a knife in the throat. A las-pistol shot took the man on his back in the face and he glanced across to see a red-haired woman in a blood-stained Navy sub-lieutenant's uniform slump slowly to the deck. Gustavus' last opponent, a huge champion, trembled and shook in a vain attempt to rise, then lay still, the relic blade still embedded in its chest.

Damnation. He hefted his heavy bolter and checked the ammunition. More than sixty percent. Good. He'd need it. He tongued the vox, noting as he did so that his armour was red-lighted in several places.

"Captain Ignatius. Brother Sigurd reports that he holds the bridge of the _Golden Dawn_, but Lord Gustavus was killed in the fight. He requests instructions."

Ignatius received the news without emotion. That either of his colleagues had survived to win the fight was more than anyone could have hoped for. "Have him set the vessel for self-destruct. He is to hold the bridge as long as he can to prevent the enemy overriding the destruct command."

The girl's voice came back. "Yes, captain. I'll keep a lock on him and 'port him out at destruct minus five seconds."

Ignatius smiled inside his helmet. "Do that." He glanced at the big Terminator walking beside him.

"Lord Gustavus was killed. Sigurd will set self-destruct and hold the bridge as long as he can."

"Janey will 'port him, and Lord Gustavus' remains, off if she can." said the smallest of the little group. Tarken had insisted on coming with them – 'It's my ship, captain, and if anyone is going to defend it, it's me.' Shere, unable to walk let alone fight, was in the pilot's chair in her place, pumped full of painkillers but able to control course and speed. The captain hoped the woman would not be a liability but he had been forced to accede; they needed every bolter they had. There were at least thirty Emperor's Children traitors aboard. Six to one. Ignatius was under no illusions about their chances.


	24. Chapter Twenty-three

**Chapter Twenty-three**

Julius Kaeseron smiled coldly. Almost deserted. Excellent. At least something was going right. He felt the familiar sadistic lust for battle and watched the tactical displays coming in from his scattered squad commanders as they moved to reform into a more coherent and organised advance. Nothing. No crew, hardly even a servitor. He knew that the 79th Century had automated their ship shortly after the Rebellion, using ancient technology found in a space hulk, but had never realised just how few could control it. Just as well, he thought bitterly, mindful of the loss of his few daemon-possessed marines in those accursed Geller fields. His smile widened in anticipation. Soon, _Eyes of the Phoenix_ would be his, a new flagship for his battle fleet.

"Lord Captain. Hethlin here. We have contact. Three Deathwatch marines."

"'Ware Sedreth. He will be somewhere close, Hethlin. I am sending Squad Asied to assist."

"Affirmative, Lord Captain. Hethlin out."

Julius nodded to himself. Hethlin, leading the point squad, was a good warrior. Not one of the original Legion from the Rebellion, he had been recruited only seven millennia ago, and could easily have led a warband of his own by now. But he preferred small unit tactics, for which he had a fair talent, so had remained a squad commander – a respected squad commander, as not all were. He had a habit of keeping his warriors alive.

It was a habit that, as his commander, Julius Kaeseron appreciated. It took a long time to bring even the most devoted initiate up to the standards he demanded, and warriors could not improve if their commanders got them killed all the time. Hethlin had a fine grasp of odds and a decent judgement of risk. He watched the icons move on his helmet display as he headed with his command squad towards the combat, loosening his blade in its scabbard as he jogged easily along the empty corridors.

Another icon appeared on his helmet display; Hethlin had engaged another warrior, non-astartes. "A sister of battle, it looks like, Lord Captain. But she's in our old colours, right down to the taloned wing. Bitch got Devton."

Julius smiled thoughtfully. A skilful ambush which had cost Hethlin one of his men. Three of them were down now. One of the enemy icons suddenly moved, very fast, closing to hand-to-hand under cover of the woman's flamer. Hethlin cursed over the vox as another icon winked out, then a fifth.

"Lord Captain, one of these fuckers is a Raven Guard with lightning claws. I am engaging."

The sergeant's icon moved close to the Raven Guard. Julius started to run, hurrying his command squad. Hethlin was a more than decent warrior, but the Raven Guard were justly famed as experts in close combat, and chainsword against lightning claws was not good odds.

"Squad Asied, Lord Captain. We have contact. Emperor's Children codex Terminator. Three dead already. It's definitely Sedreth. We are engaging."

A Terminator. Damn. He had none with him here; the few he'd brought on this mission had been on _Tenryu_ when it blew. Even an ordinary Terminator was worth a squad of marines in this sort of combat, and Sedreth had been – still was – a noted veteran within the Legion; a lot better than the usual Imperial filth. This would cost him more valuable warriors. Ah well, it was not as if he'd not fought Terminators before, and it meant that at the very least the fight would be memorable. He might even be able to take the man down in person.

"Squads Metier and Vorth, move to Asied's position. Alert, all squads. Sedreth is in Terminator armour."

The acknowledgements came back instantly. Another icon winked out on his helmet display and he broke into a sprint. Hethlin's voice roared in pain and rage, then cut off abruptly. Julius rounded the corner in time to see the sergeant slump to the ground before a black-armoured warrior in Corvus-pattern plate, arcs of power still crackling from the lightning claw driven through what remained of his sergeant's pelvic armour. A smaller, clearly feminine, armoured figure in purple and gold was engaged with the last of Hethlin's squad, her blade arcing blue as she swung and parried with speed and considerable skill. Bolter rounds raced down the corridor from two black-armoured marines and slammed into his own warriors as they joined his charge, dropping sergeant Raseith with a soft grunt.

"For the Emperor!" he screamed, his great sword trailing a visible darkness as he leapt to engage the Raven Guard. Glittering lightning claws flashed blue arcs of power as the marine met him without hesitation.

* * *

Ignatius swore as the new opponents appeared and charged into battle. Even Meleriex couldn't hold for long at those odds. Sedreth was fully engaged against more than a dozen opponents; there was no help coming from that quarter. He glanced at Jeremiah, whose armour showed the impacts of multiple bolts already. The Iron Snake was firing deliberately into the combat, protecting Meleriex's flanks with bursts of adamantium-cored bolts as best he could.

"Shere," he voxed. "If you can 'port Sigurd close to our position, now would be a good time."

"We'll try, brother-captain. But he's fully engaged right now. And there's another squad of traitors at one of our auxiliary control rooms, trying to break into the ship's command circuits. We won't have precise control of the teleport for much longer."

"Then 'port him regardless. We can blow the traitor ship later, but not if we lose this one. I need that heavy bolter of his and I need it now."

"Yes, brother-captain."

* * *

Sara blinked sweat from her eyes as she parried another massive blow. Damn, this bastard was good. Her adrenal and reflex boosts were both at max and she could barely hold her own. She ducked another blow and flung herself forward, her shoulder-plate driving into the warrior's gut. The unexpected move put him off balance for a vital half a second and she drove her blade through his knee, wrenching it clear and taking half his leg with it. The marine lashed out even as he fell, his chainsword cleaving a long gash in her own leg armour, nearly ripping the thigh-plate loose. She ignored the sudden pain and forced the sword through his chest, then leapt clear of the dying marine to engage another warrior, trusting in her armour's spinal injector to prevent shock and bleed-out.

* * *

Sigurd grinned viciously behind his helmet as another traitor fell, torn apart by the devastating stream of fire from his massive weapon. A small uniformed figure lay on her stomach beside him, firing steadily down the corridor with a captured bolter. Verstark, that was her name. A brave young woman. He would tell the Chapter of her courage when – if – he got back to his brothers.

"Sigurd, prepare for teleport."

Shere. "There's still nearly a minute before the self-destruct can't be stopped, brother."

"Captain Ignatius doesn't have a minute. They're engaged at four to one against and Meleriex is already down. We're 'porting you into action directly, brother."

"Very well. Three to 'port, brother. Make sure you get Lord Gustavus' body and my companion. She's worth the saving." He threw his remaining grenades; maybe they would slow the traitors down long enough.

There was a flare of light and the familiar sensation took him again.

Shere looked at the girl. "Can you 'port internally?"

She nodded in understanding. "Good luck." She reached for the controls and he was engulfed in light.

* * *

Traitors or not, Ignatius had to respect the speed with which the Emperor's Children reacted. Sigurd's unexpected arrival cost them two warriors, but the remainder spun fast, pouring fire at the Space Wolf, and sending him staggering backwards under the impacts with bright bloody splotches on his already battered armour. Somehow the powerful marine stayed upright for several seconds, his finger still locked on the trigger of his heavy bolter. Another of the traitors went down, chest ripped apart, before their devastator fell and lay still.

Ignatius took advantage to close, his powersword a blur as he took bloody vengeance for his brother. Then Shere was there in a flare of teleport energy, his bolter shuddering defiance at point blank range; two more traitors went down before the enemy captain's cruel black blade sent the Tigers Argent veteran into a wall with an arm severed and a terrible cold-cauterised wound where his chest-plate had been. Ignatius blocked the man's follow-up and the awful voice echoed through the corridor.

"My kill, brothers. You deal with the woman."

Sara Tarken's voice was cold through her external speakers. "If you think you can, pussies. Come on." Her powersword was held low and ready as she faced off two astartes. Some liability. Ignatius grinned to himself as he faced off against the enemy commander.

Jeremiah's voice came clear and defiant from behind him, the last of his kill-team engaging three warriors simultaneously. "In His Glorious Name. Death to all traitors."

Ignatius snarled. "Come on, then, traitor. Let me teach you how the Blood Ravens fight."

The other laughed, a chilling sound, and answered with a sudden swing of the smoking black blade he bore. Ignatius parried and responded with a powerful blow of his own.

* * *

Janey analysed the tactical display as she'd done so many times. Meleriex, Sigurd and Shere were all down. Mr Morgan was fighting alone against eight, no, seven warriors; mummy was fighting two, brother Jeremiah now had two as well and captain Ignatius was alone against the enemy commander. And there was still another squad, down on deck six, to deal with even if they won. She bit her lip, wondering what to do even as she spoke quietly into the comms unit. The _Golden Dawn_ had blown up just a few seconds before, but there were reports of enemy marines on the station. Some must have teleported off in time. She unclipped the bolter from its place and cocked it. The solid feel of the weapon was a minor comfort as she helplessly watched the fight.

* * *

Julius glanced at his tactical display as he and the Blood Ravens captain circled each other. The man was good, he had to admit. Not good enough, of course, but very skilled for an Imperial. He spoke into the command channel to Isthus and his recruit squad, few of them more than a couple of centuries old, down on deck six at the auxiliary control room.

"Sergeant Isthus. How long before you can access the ship's command circuits?"

"We've been locked out, sir. The enemy tech-priests, or whoever they have, are doing a competent job of resistance."

"Send two of your warriors to the bridge. That should solve the problem."

"As you command, Lord Captain."

Julius didn't bother to answer. He had already lost seventeen marines in this fight, more than his company had lost in a century. Not to mention the sixty or so lost when their ships were destroyed and the several more he would yet lose taking that damned Sedreth down. The sooner they won, the better. Then he would have a serious, and for the other a fatal, conversation with that prick Eidolon about adequacy of forces; he knew he should have arrived by strike cruiser. He parried another quick thrust and returned a blow that cracked the other man's armour.

"Not good enough, captain Ignatius. It is time to end this." He stepped into his favourite attack pattern, blade blurring as he drove the loyalist back step by step.

Jeremiah staggered as the chainsword tore into his side. His combat blade was lost, stuck in the dead throat of one of his opponents and this last warrior might be one too many. He groped for his bolt pistol as he desperately dived aside from another slashing blow.

Sara snarled as the tentacled warrior – the marine's left arm was a tentacle, not an arm – swung a vicious-looking powerhammer at her skull. One of her opponents was down, but just injured, not dead and she was doing her best to keep the other between herself and the downed marine's bolter. It was not easy. She let herself chuckle. "Not exactly Lucius, are you?"

The response was a slightly too strong blow that, had it landed, would have split her into pieces. But it unbalanced the marine and her own sword struck true, severing tentacle and armour alike and biting deep into the body. Blood ran down the blade, smoking in the heat of the power field and the marine screamed in agonised ecstasy, slamming his hammer onto her shoulder with a joyful laugh. She felt the impact crack her collar-bone, and lost the grip on her blade. Reflex pulled her bolt pistol from its holster before she had even thought and she fired point-blank into the pink and black helmet, shattering mouth grill and head together. A roar of gunfire picked her up and she slammed into the corridor wall.

* * *

"Mummy!" Janey's voice came over the vox and Sedreth cursed. He decapitated yet another opponent and used the massive weight of his Terminator armour to drive a second into the wall. Fury gave him new strength and he punched the man's helmet down into his chest. Scooping up his fallen stormbolter he turned and sprinted for the other combat, ignoring the patter of bolts against his back as he reloaded on the run. The armour could take it. It had to.

* * *

Ignatius staggered, parried, and a skilled twist cost him his grip on his blade. So this is how it ends, he thought, even as he flung himself desperately forward in an attempt to grapple. The hilt of the enemy captain's sword punched him in the face, shattering his helmet and breaking his nose and cheekbones. He fell, spitting blood, his vision blurred.

"A good fight, Blood Raven. You will make a worthy addition to my trophy room," came the laughing voice from above him and he raised his head to meet the deathblow with a last defiance.

A thunderous roar of heavy gunfire erupted along the corridor and the blow never fell.

"Sedreth!" Through streaming eyes he saw the armoured boots move away and he struggled to focus.

"Brother-captain Kaeseron. Long time, no see. I hope you've been practising with that thing." A casually conversational tone, almost contemptuously casual.

A cruel laugh. "Come and see. Brother."

"We haven't been brothers for a long long time, Julius." A crash of blades. "Predictable as ever, captain. You need to spar with someone better."

He blinked away blood and tears to watch the two duellists. A black-and-pink-armoured figure stepped towards him, whirling chainsword in hand. His limbs would not obey him properly as he struggled to his knees.

"Do not kill him yet, brother. Not until he has seen his last hope defeated," said Kaeseron in his awful voice. The figure stepped back a pace. The two duellists swung and thrust and parried in a display of awesome skill.

"That armour slows you down, Sedreth," said the traitor as a blow went home, the impact cracking even the massive Terminator chest-plate.

"Maybe I'm getting old, Julius," replied the Terminator, neatly catching the follow-up on his quillons and flicking a riposte that cut a scar through a vile chaos rune.

"Lucius would disagree." The black blade blurred in a dazzling parry-riposte that almost gutted Sedreth, who spun past it and caught the other a massive blow on the shoulder with his free hand. The powerfist knocked Kaeseron back a pace and Sedreth followed up with a blistering attack pattern of his own.

"Lucius is a prick. He could – and should – have died with honour beside Saul Tarvitz and Solomon Demeter. Time to die, Julius." He launched a series of strokes which Ignatius didn't recognise. The black sword moved incredibly fast in response and the enemy warrior laughed.

"You think to catch me with that one?"

"No," said Sedreth, lashing out with his powerfist again even as he reversed his sword-stroke. This time the blow staggered the other marine and the long powersword ripped up from the groin to open the man's ancient armour from gut to gorget. The black sword bounced tinnily on the metal decking as Kaeseron collapsed.

"How did you do that?" The terrible voice was weak and hoarse.

"The Primarch taught me it, a long time ago. Goodbye, Julius." The blade came down, severing head from neck. There was a stunned silence.

A burst of bolter fire erupted from a few metres away as one of the remaining Emperor's Children opened up to avenge his commander. Sedreth's blade flew true, impaling the man through the chest and pinning him to the wall. The others rushed the Terminator with furious battle cries. The big man swatted a warrior into the wall with his powerfist, dived aside and came to his feet with stormbolter in hand. The thunder was massive, echoing in the confined corridor.

Sedreth knelt by Sara Tarken, lifting her helmet clear. Her eyes fluttered open. "Still here, Morgan. Make sure Janey's safe." Her eyes closed again as she fought against both auto-sedation and the pain of her injuries.

He stood, glancing down and lifting Ignatius easily to his feet. "You alright?"

It hurt to talk. Actually, it hurt to breathe. "I've been better, Sedreth. You are a fine swordsman."

"After a hundred centuries, I should be. Stay here and see to the others. I shall secure the bridge and return shortly." He turned and set off at a thunderous run, the weight of his armour shaking the deck-plates.

* * *

Janey knelt beside her chair, bolter braced against the armrest, as the hammering on the bridge doors grew. She could see the metal starting to buckle under the assault, and took careful aim. There were two of them outside, she knew. Maybe she could get one. Funnily enough she wasn't scared. Mummy was dead and she was going to make the traitors pay in blood before she too went to join the Emperor.

The door cracked and a black-armoured arm pushed through, firing blindly across the bridge. The armoured glass on the main viewport cracked and she was glad she'd had the foresight to close the blast shields. A figure shoved its way through and she squeezed the trigger gently, ripping a line of holes in head and shoulder. A bellow of fury was her reward, but the chaos marine was still alive. Two pairs of hands grabbed the edges of the tear and pulled it wider.

A pair of black blurs burst through the opening and she emptied the magazine in time to catch the second marine neatly in the chest and head. The warrior collapsed like a sack of wheat, his armour shattered by the point-blank impacts. Above her the heavy chair disintegrated under the other one's fire, then a huge foot booted it clear, knocking her across the control room and costing her her bolter. She rolled to her feet, and came up determinedly with Mr Morgan's birthday gift in her hand.

"A child?" The traitor sounded confused.

She grinned at him. "Your friend wasn't the first traitor marine I've killed." She rolled the gleaming blade expertly across her fingers. "And he won't be the last."

The warrior laughed. "Brave little thing, aren't you? I shall enjoy your pain, girl." He clipped his bolter to his thigh and drew a long combat blade, then a second. She nodded slowly and drew her own second blade.

"Let's dance, traitor," she said, and lunged fast in a classic astartes move. He parried and whipped a blade past her by a few centimetres, hampered slightly by the necessity of reaching down for her, but not noticeably slowed by the bolter wounds in his arm and shoulder. A booted foot struck out and she slid aside, driving her off-hand blade into the knee joint. The marine leapt back with a curse, taking her fractal-edged birthday gift with him. She changed to her favourite single blade stance, blade low and free hand held high.

The man chuckled. "Very good, child. But it takes more than that to seriously injure one of the Children." He jerked the blade clear and flung it at her head, forcing her to dive sideways. She slammed a hand on the comms console and rolled across the floor as the screens came to life.

"What the..?"

"Remember your Emperor? And your Primarch?"

The man laughed. "The corpse-emperor doesn't look much like that any more. Nor does the Primarch." He missed her by a fraction as she ducked behind the command throne. Despite his earlier comment he was slower on his feet than he'd been. Dark red blood stained his armour's knee joint, running over the horrid pink runes painted on his shin-piece.

"You can't dodge forever, child."

"I don't have to. Your captain is dead already. None of you traitors will survive the day. But tell me something." She dived aside, stabbing at his hand but only scratching the heavy gauntlet. "Why did you do it?"

"The Heresy, you mean?" He slashed again, severing a lock of her hair. "I wasn't there. I joined the Legion later."

She kicked out, connecting with his injured knee and spinning away with a line of fire in her leg. Blood ran down her thigh and she bit her lip to keep from crying out.

"You're good, girl. It's a shame to kill you. You'd make a fine servant."

She shook her head solemnly. "You'll have to kill me."

"Very well." The blades reached for her and she gasped in pain as one caught her forearm, drawing a second line of bloody fire and opening it almost to the bone. Her own knife plunged deep into the man's armpit and he cursed. On a normal man such a strike would been fatal, but the traitor marine was able to leap back again instead, pulling the knife from her hand. She saw the opportunity and ran through the door, diving through the narrow gap, cradling her injured arm and leaving a trail of blood.

He snarled behind her. "I'm coming for you, child. You cannot outrun me." That was true, she thought, running as hard as she could with her left leg barely responding. Heavy footsteps pounded behind her and she dived through the door to the bridge armoury. And stopped. There were no weapons there. She turned in time to see the traitor standing in the doorway. He was holding a pair of bolters, casually, one-handed.

"Looking for these?"

She nodded. "You're not going to give me one, are you?" Somehow her voice didn't tremble.

"No. I'm going to stick a knife in your gut and kill you as slowly and painfully as possible."

She looked at him with desperate hate; there was nothing to say. She took up an unarmed combat stance, knowing it was hopeless but unwilling to give the traitor the satisfaction of surrender.

A heavy footstep turned the corridor outside. A familiar, thunderous, run of a heavy footstep.

"Mr Morgan? In here."

The traitor turned fast, a bolter suddenly in each hand, and opened fire. Whether he hit or not, it made no difference. A cacophonous burst of stormbolter fire ripped him almost in two and he collapsed in a bloody heap. Her knees felt weak. She managed a tremulous smile as the big marine loomed in the doorway.

"There's a dead one on the bridge."

He nodded. "There is still one squad to deal with?"

She nodded. "Is mummy...?" She couldn't say it.

He smiled slightly. "She is alright. Several injuries, but none are fatal. She will recover."

She felt like she was going to faint. "The others?"

"Brother-captain Ignatius is somehow alive, although his armour will not fight again. I fear the others of his team are dead, but I did not wait to check."

"I'm sorry."

"Do not be. If they had been allowed to choose the manner of their deaths, they would have considered it a privilege to die in combat against the Emperor's enemies. Especially these enemies."

"I know. But.."

"I know. They were very brave. They knew how slim were their chances."

She nodded. "You better get back and deal with the rest."

"I shall accompany you to the bridge first. I do not doubt your skills, but marines can recover from even the most grievous injuries. Moreover, you need medical attention, Janey."

They walked together to the shattered doors. Mr Morgan looked at the bloody corpse on the floor.

"Well done."

There was a noise behind them and he turned, weapon rising. She sensed rather than saw his relief as mummy and captain Ignatius limped into view, leaning on each other for support. The Deathwatch captain's armour was only held together by the sensor fibres; bits of ceramite left a trail where he walked. Mummy's armour was better, but not by much; her left thigh-plate was gone completely, exposing a bloody tear in her leggings, and huge gouges scarred the rich purple battle-plate. Her helmet too was so badly damaged that it hung from her utility belt, unwearable.

"You cannot fight like that," said Mr Morgan in a flat voice.

Mummy nodded. "We left Sigurd and Jeremiah in the infirmary, although neither of them have much chance of surviving even with treatment, and put bolts into the heads of the enemy wounded. There was nothing we could do for Meleriex or Shere. How many of them are left?"

"A squad, maybe two. Less the two marines they sent up here. Perhaps a dozen."

"You can't take those odds again. Even that armour has its limits." Captain Ignatius indicated Mr Morgan's left arm, which was fixed at an angle.

Mr Morgan nodded. "The servo-unit is damaged. A lucky shot, though easily and quickly repairable. But the chest-plate is broken; Kaeseron nearly had me. You are correct, captain, it offers little protection in this condition. But we still have a fight to finish. It would be helpful to have assistance."

Captain Ignatius looked down at the ruin of what had once been his chest-plate then raised an eyebrow. "You have a suggestion?"

"Use the spares. We're not exactly short of battle-plate. Sara, you can use Agnetha's."

Mummy nodded painfully, her face determined. "My thoughts precisely. Have you ever worn Maximus armour, captain?"

He shook his head slowly. Mr Morgan smiled slowly. "You should. Especially the sets we have. The Legion's tech-marines were very good."

"You want me to wear the armour of the_ Emperor's Children_?" It was amazing how much disbelief could be put into one question. Despite the pain, Janey suddenly found herself grinning.

* * *

Isthus cursed quietly. The Lord Captain was dead, and so were five full squads of marines on this accursed vessel. That had definitely not been part of the plan. He looked at the former tech-priest Lobus with undisguised distaste.

"How much longer?"

The black-cowled creature – no longer anything resembling a man, really – bubbled at him. "A few minutes only. I have broken the cypher on the lock-out. We shall have control of the vessel once I have accessed its machine spirit."

"Get on with it, then. The Legion has lost more than a hundred warriors this day. If we don't return with this ship, we had better not return at all." And, you, you filthy little worm, will die either way, he thought to himself.

"Sergeant. There's a vid signal coming through, general channels."

He looked up. A familiar handsome man in purple and gold Maximus armour smiled out of the screen. "Hello, brothers. I hope you remember me. Because I'm going to be the last thing any of you ever see." The vid cut out.

"Sedreth." He knew his voice was flat with hate. He wondered what had happened to the man's Terminator armour, that Lord Kaeseron had warned them of. Still, that made it an easier kill. Much easier. He tongued the vox.

"Alright. You all saw him. It looks like the Lord Captain critically damaged that accursed Terminator armour before he was killed. So he's not as dangerous as he was before. But don't underestimate him. He's been around since before the Rebellion, and that takes more than luck. He has to come to us, or we can take the ship from here. Defence pattern theta-twelve. Stay alert and make sure of your targets. For once we have an opponent worthy of us."

"Sergeant, Lord Eidolon wanted him alive." Lychas. Typically enough. Arse-crawling vermin.

"Eidolon can kiss my arse. That bastard killed more than three entire squads on his own, and the Lord Captain into the bargain. Just kill him. Put him on the ground, and once he's down, make sure he stays down. That's an order. Anyone who leaves that fucker alive will answer to me personally. We're taking no chances; enough's gone wrong on this fuck-up of a mission. Do I hear a 'yes, sergeant'?"

"Yes, sergeant," came the ragged replies through his vox. Fucking recruits. They should never have allowed half of these arseholes into the company; they weren't fit for the gene seed of the wanking Death Guard. He hoped no-one would be stupid enough to try and take Sedreth alive. He walked out into the corridor and watched his warriors take positions. Competent. Barely. Isthus racked his bolter. Something told him he was going to need it.

* * *

Thiel watched carefully down the corridor, his hearts pumping fast. There! Movement.

"Sergeant, I have movement at eleven from my position. Unidentifiable, but definite movement."

The sergeant's controlled snarl came back. "Cilian, you should be able to confirm."

Cilian, half a dozen metres away, was silent. "Cilian, answer damn you."

"Uhm, negative, sergeant. I have nothing on my autosenses."

"Thiel? Report."

"Nothing, sergeant. It was a flicker of something, but I couldn't be certain."

"Keep alert."

Something else moved, about chest high. He blinked trying to be sure. A soft rush. Shit. He dived backwards as white-hot promethium seared the corridor.

"Sergeant, contact. Flame unit." He squeezed the trigger on his bolter, sending a stream of death along the corridor. Something fell with a clatter. The fire stopped. He cautiously looked ahead. An armoured form, purple and gold. Got him!

He grinned and moved swiftly along the passageway. Cilian too moved forward; they covered each other in the classic pair advance. His autosenses indicated a dead body in the armour ahead.

"Sergeant, Thiel here. One corpse. Cilian and me are moving to check it."

Sergeant Isthus' voice was hard and flat. "No! Stay in position!"

They hesitated, confused. A white-armoured figure stepped out and the last thing either saw was the white-hot rush of burning promethium.

Isthus cursed, ignoring the screams of his dying men. Idiots. There was a gap in the perimeter now. He looked at the adept with distaste.

"You, get this bloody ship under control. Mthelin, with me." He moved forward beside the noise marine, thankful that he at least was a veteran too.

A series of clunks on the metal decking had them both ducking back, but the explosion didn't come. Instead, thick choking smoke filled the corridors, smoke designed to confuse autosenses. He smiled to himself. So. He gestured to his companion and a blast of violent sound erupted down the passageway, dispersing much of the vapour and partially revealing Maximus armour in the Legion's old codex colours. He sent a burst of bolter fire into it and it dodged back. Bolter rounds came back through the remnants of the gas and Mthelin sent a series of sonic blasts down the passage as they advanced together.

* * *

Ignatius sent a burst of fire down the corridor and moved back. He watched the advance coolly. Unlike the previous pair, these two knew what they were doing. He sent a second burst towards them and voxed Tarken to fall back; her icon indicated obedience.

Sedreth's voice came over his audio channel. "Brother-captain, they are using a variation on the theta-series defence pattern." His helmet display suddenly came alive, showing positions he knew were being relayed to the other two.

The girl's calm light voice came over the vox. "Tactical display back online. Mummy, contact on your left, two o'clock, range twenty metres. Captain, one is moving into position to flank you from corridor zeta-three. Mr Morgan, there are two heading down corridor delta-four, paralleling your movement."

He listened to the acknowledgements come back. Then Tarken's voice. "Target sighted. I am engaging." There was the familiar rushing sound of burning promethium, two brief bursts of fire, the second much longer than the first, then a single shot.

"Target eliminated."

Ignatius nodded quietly; efficient. The two traitors moving towards him suddenly broke into a run; he'd been spotted. A blast of energy blasted a hole in the wall beside him, and he reeled from the impact, thankful for his fresh armour. He emptied the magazine almost blindly and whipped out his sword, stepping in to engage them as two whirring chainswords swung almost together.

* * *

Sedreth opened fire on the black-and-pink-armoured marines at close range. They reacted fast, returning fire that was accurate and caused red lights on his armour displays. He dodged back round the corner, rolling a krak grenade down the passage behind him. Two blurs dived round the corner, shooting as they came. Stupid; they should have sent the grenade back. His blade took the first one, severing an arm and driving deep into the armoured torso. Bolts bounced off his shoulder-plate as the second dodged his companion's falling corpse. He smashed the bolter aside and cut at the head, gouging a long scar in the garish helmet. The warrior grappled, wrestling him into the wall. He dropped his blade where the man would see it and took advantage of the instinctive reach to throw his opponent. Even as the other came to his feet, his bolt pistol spoke, opening a hole in the breather grill and exploding helmet and head together in a shower of blood and gore.

More were on the way; he could see the icons on his tacdisplay. He retrieved his bolter and blade and waited.

Noise marine! Sara cursed and sent a gout of promethium along the broad passage, sealing it off from support. Ignatius would have to cope. She fired again, threw the flame unit into the inferno, then drew her powersword and charged a second pair of armoured figures as they skidded to a halt and spun to face her. Bolts impacted her armour and red display lights indicated her chest-plate had been damaged. Then she was on them.

* * *

"Sergeant, Lychas. Me and Demit are engaging a Sister of Battle. Order of the Ebon Blade, I think."

"Good. Those flames of hers are keeping us from joining you. Kill the bitch. Mthelin and I have this fucker, whoever he is. General report. Any sight of Sedreth?"

"Travi here, sergeant. We're under fire from a marine in codex armour. It might be him, but we can't tell."

"Keep the bastard busy. There can't be many more of them. Lobus, have you got control of the bloody ship yet?"

"Interfacing with the machine spirit now, sergeant." There was a brief pause, then a long agonised scream.

"What in the Primarch's name just happened?"

"Lobus is dead. Some sort of energy surge. He's still smoking," came the impassive voice of Imanol, the most reliable of his recruit squad, who had been guarding the control room.

Isthus parried a vicious cut. "Imanol, join Travi and the rest. Take down that bastard traitor."

"Yes, sergeant, on my way."

* * *

Sedreth cut another warrior down. They weren't up to normal standards. Had to be recruits. Which meant a veteran sergeant, one of Kaeseron's best, and at least one other very skilled veteran. Sado-masochistic lunatic though the late and unlamented Julius Kaeseron had been, he had still been a talented and highly skilled commander who demanded the very best. He dodged another blow and severed the swordsman's arm. Where was the sergeant?

Ignatius swore. These two were damned good. If he'd been fresh and unhurt, it would have been an overwhelming match. As it was, despite the advantage of powersword over chainswords, only luck and adrenaline were keeping him alive. And one or other would run out sooner or later.

Sara drove her blade through a guard and let the flared shoulder-guards of Agnetha's armour take the return, kicking out and buckling a knee joint. These two were a lot less skilled than the earlier ones. No better than the scouts she'd trained against at Baal. She ducked a heavy blow and feinted high, drove low. The lunge slid her blade into the pelvis just above the utility belt, and caused a gout of blood to spurt over the decking. The marine dropped, pulling her blade with him and she kicked the dying warrior aside as something smashed into her upper back. Luckily the armour held, but as she rolled with the impact and came up to ready again she noticed the power readouts turn orange. Armour overheat in fifteen minutes unless she shut down the power plant. Blast.

"Captain, my armour power plant's damaged. I'll have to power it off in ten minutes."

Ignatius acknowledged. He was bleeding from a half-dozen minor wounds; if not for his astartes' blood clotting agents, he would have bled to death already. Both his opponents had taken injuries, but their fighting capacities appeared unimpaired. He measured them as he desperately parried and riposted and dodged. Maybe he could take the noise marine on the left without leaving himself open to a fatal blow from the other one. Maybe.

Sedreth leapt back as the new arrival opened fire. Bolts left a trail of impacts in the walls where he'd been fraction of a second before, then the fire ceased as his two hand-to-hand opponents closed the distance again. Stupid of them. One marine without cover could not take three in a firefight. Blade to blade, however, skill and experience counted for much more. He stepped in to meet the charge, knocking a flailing blade towards the deck and whipping his own sword upwards to eviscerate the wielder. Just two now. He slapped aside a chainaxe – what the hell was an Emperor's Children marine doing with such a clumsy weapon? It didn't matter; the clumsiness killed the marine swinging it as he smashed his own blade through the man's back and out the front of the breastplate. He heaved the corpse into the path of the third marine, the smart one with the bolter. Impacts shattered the corpse's armour and then he was too close. More bolts bounced briefly off his armour and he felt a tearing impact on his left abdomen before the sword cut the bolter in two. A combat blade slammed accurately into his off shoulder joint, but barely penetrated the superb Maximus plate. His own powersword was rather more effective and the man dropped, headless.

He glanced through the door long enough to note the smoking corpse, then turned and ran, wincing from the latest injury, for where Ignatius was being driven backwards.

* * *

Ignatius snarled wordlessly. They were too good for this to last much longer.

"Auxiliary control room cleared. On my way, brother-captain."

"Don't be long, Sedreth. These two are good." He somehow got his sword between his head and bloody adamantine teeth. Bloody with his blood. Damnation. Good wasn't the word. They were playing with him.

"Either have a name?"

He barely blocked another slash. "One has the name Isthus on his shoulder. Why?"

"Isthus was part of Kaeseron's command squad during the Crusade. He's good all right. Fight defensively."

Ignatius managed a chuckle. "What do you think I'm doing?"

A massive blow got through and his shoulder stung from the impact. His riposte was fractionally slow and the noise marine's chainsword ripped upwards, leaving a massive gouge in his breastplate and red-lighting several minor systems. He barely got his head out of the way as the whirring adamantite teeth drove at his face. The creature made a sound that he supposed might once have been a laugh.

The one named Isthus took full advantage, and slammed a fist into his shoulder to spin past him; the horrific sound of chainsword on ceramite red-lighted yet more systems and now he was flanked. He leapt sideways, barely avoiding yet another slashing blow as he tried to keep them in front of him.

* * *

Isthus grinned, licking his fangs. "You cannot dodge forever, fool."

Mthelin's chainsword cut low, drawing blood from the marine's thigh before the man could respond. His return blow was good though, and cracked the noise marine's shoulder-plate, knocking a large chunk of ceramite loose to bounce on the deck.

"I don't need forever, traitor." The man's voice was defiant, but beneath it Isthus could hear the strain of fighting two opponents at once and he grinned wider, launching another attack. Once this bastard was dead they could deal with Sedreth. His blow smashed the marine captain sideways into the passage wall and it was more luck than judgement that deflected Mthelin's death-strike.

A sudden bellow came from behind him and he turned to see another marine in codex Maximus armour leap through the dying flames. His eyes widened briefly as he recognised the name on the shoulder-plate. He stepped to meet the new opponent.

"Finish it, Mthelin. I'll take this treacherous fuck. Come on, Sedreth." He slid into a duelling position and stepped in to meet the charge of the marine he wanted above all others to kill.

* * *

Sedreth slowed his charge as Isthus turned to face him. "It's been a long time, Isthus. New recruits were they? I expected better from a squad of yours."

"New policy of Eidolon's. A reward for a faithful cult service. After I've killed you, I'll go back and explain to him why it's stupid. It might be a fatal explanation. For him." Their blades met briefly, two experts feeling each other out. "What happened to your Terminator armour?"

"Power plant was damaged, and Kaeseron ruined the servos in the left arm. Didn't you used to use a daemonblade?" He flicked aside a clever strike. The whirring teeth scratched his vambrace; his own blade cut a light score in a shoulder rune.

"Stupid thing kept trying to take over in fights. I'm better than any daemon." Their blades flickered in attack and defence, blurs of precise motion, as they sought out weaknesses.

"True enough. Daemons are stupid. We were wrong, Isthus. The Primarch was possessed – still is. We should have stayed loyal. The lodges corrupted the Legion." He whipped his blade across, and Isthus ducked, taking the blow on the ferociously altered Legion winged talon decorating his left shoulder-plate. The return blow forced him backwards to avoid decapitation. "Nice move. Who did you learn that one from?"

"Eldar aspect warrior."

"Howling Banshee?" He drove in a series of strokes, the attack pattern forcing the chaos marine to give ground.

"Yes. One of their avatars. She nearly killed me." Isthus' response was perfect, expertly parrying in the prescribed manner, but also managing a retaliation that he'd not seen before and which scored a gouge in his left upper arm. Luckily the armour held and he gave ground in his turn as the chainsword followed up with a vicious series of cuts and slashes.

"You're getting slow, Sedreth."

"Funny, that's what Julius said." His blade tip cut through the other's utility belt, entangling his legs for a fraction of a second. It was enough. Powersword met chest-plate in a contest of armour versus weapon in which the weapon had all the advantages. Isthus staggered backwards.

"Good one, Sedreth," he wheezed. "But I have two hearts, and I only need one to kill you." The traitor launched a desperate all-out attack, clearly intending to take Sedreth with him.

Ignatius saw his opening as the noise marine was distracted by his companion's lethal injury and struck with all his remaining strength. The blow was true, sheering diagonally through shoulder and torso and dropping the creature in a bloody heap. He turned in time to see Sedreth draw a berserk assault which ended with his opponent headless at his feet. The sergeant slowly took off his helmet.

"He was a fine man, once. Sleep well, Isthus. I'll avenge the true Legion for you. For all of us."

Ignatius looked at the man, then shrugged mentally. If vengeance against the heretics was Sedreth's motivation, who was he to quarrel with it? It was reason enough. He looked along the corridor as Tarken, white armour blood-streaked and battle-scarred, limped up to them through the last guttering flames.

Her voice came through the vox. "Janey, did we get them all?"

"Yes, mummy. No other life signs or movement but you."

"What is the situation on the station?" asked Ignatius.

"Only a couple of them managed to 'port on to the station. The Guard unit there has taken heavy casualties, but reports they're all dead."

"Very well. Inform the station that the system is under Ordo Malleus control until I say otherwise."


	25. Chapter Twenty-four

**Chapter Twenty-four**

a/n: this is something of a set-up chapter for future character development. It also expands on Sedreth's motivations and back story. It also sort of ends the Meyis incident. and there will be a brief gap before we pick up. This is mostly because I'm not really sure about how to write up Janey as an early adolescent, so my apologies for those expecting it. For the record, if I had to write a The Talk speech for a character, I'd probably pinch Ari's coming of age recording to her clone from CJCherryh's Cyteen. And I do recommend that novel by the way.

Finally, I'd like to take this opportunity to thank you all for the kind reviews. I'm very flattered and extremely grateful.

Now, on with the story...

* * *

From her vantage point at the great armoured observation window the stars were distant multi-hued lights against black velvet. She liked this place. Here, in the quiet of the briefing chamber, she could find a sense of peace before the unrelenting realities of position and duty took over again.

A soft chime indicated one of her people was at the door. She turned and pressed the stud that allowed entry.

It was not one of her people. The massive armoured figure of brother-captain Silur Mendez of the Grey Knights stepped through the opening, somehow dwarfing the doors even though they were much larger than he. The man's serene grimness was, she had to admit, both a comfort and a warning. It was not the first time she had worked with astartes, but it was a new experience to deal with the psyker-daemon-hunters of the elite chapter.

"Inquisitor Coigreach. We are about to make final warp transition."

She nodded. "I shall come to the bridge, brother-captain."

He waited courteously for her, keeping to her pace easily as they walked together, naval personnel and servitors alike giving them a respectful amount of space.

She thought back to the conversation the two of them had had when he'd first come aboard. She had asked him, "Why the Grey Knights, captain? What is your interest in this affair?"

His answer had surprised her for its candour. "To ensure we did not make an error four years ago, Inquisitor. My squad and I encountered Sara Tarken and her people in the Plett system. If we were incorrect to let them go, I will kill them myself."

"Do you believe you were incorrect?"

He had smiled briefly and told her, "No."

Ekaterina Coigreach hoped he was right.

* * *

The buzzing was insistent. Janey's voice came over the comm. "Mummy, there's a transmission from station. Inquisitor Coigreach and her retinue just arrived in system. Four warships."

Sara rolled over sleepily and reached for the unit. "I'll be up in half an hour, darling. Have you told captain Ignatius and Morgan?"

"Yes, mummy. Mr Morgan is making breakfast already" The comm cut out.

Sara slid out of bed and headed for the shower. She would have time for breakfast and hopefully for her morning workout long before the Inquisitor was in any position to demand audiences. She instinctively glanced at the scan feed; _Phoenix_ was stationed close to system ecliptic, from where she could deal equally easily with ships trying to leave unauthorised, or any attempted invasion force. Luckily, in the two months since brother-captain Ignatius had effectively placed the system under martial law, the latter had not been a problem they'd had to handle, and Sedreth's judicious use of the (repaired) armour belonging to the dead marines of Ignatius' kill-team had persuaded the governor that there were many more astartes than was actually the case.

She stepped into the hot spray chamber, letting the powerful jets drive the last vestiges of sleep from her body. The scar on her thigh had healed well, with only minor treatment required for the torn muscles. Janey, thanks to the Emperor's mercy and the kill-team's medical servitor, had also healed easily and without more than a pair of thin scars. She was back to her training too now, had been for two weeks.

The two injured Deathwatch marines had not been so fortunate; Jeremiah had succumbed to his many injuries less than a day after the battle, and Sigurd, who still somehow clung to life despite having only one barely working heart and half a lung, needed constant monitoring by the kill-team's medical servitor. The Space Wolf should by rights be dead, but simply refused to let himself give in to oblivion. In his conscious moments, which were becoming thankfully more frequent, he had stated that he was determined to return to his Chapter to ensure that Lord Gustavus' name was added to the honour rolls of those who had given their lives alongside the Wolves. Sara also suspected that he wanted to inspire the young naval officer who had fought beside him on the _Golden Dawn_. The woman had set the self-destruct, killing nigh fifteen thousand of her own crew-mates, and guilt, as much as her severe injuries, had caused them to come close to losing her for good. Lieutenant Verstark had mostly recovered from her physical trauma, but rarely left the marine's side; Ignatius in a remarkably open-minded demonstration of shrewd intelligence had not objected.

She hit the dryer cycle, the heated airflows warming her muscles, and stretched lithely. No twinges, again. Good. Ignatius was due to work with her today and she didn't want to be slow. It was a matter of pride in herself, of course, but also to honour her trainer. She wasn't entirely certain that Ignatius fully trusted the former chaos marine, and she and Janey had an agreement not to let Sedreth down.

* * *

"Hi, mummy," came the familiar merry greeting when she walked onto the bridge twenty minutes later. Janey was in her usual chair. Sedreth was in the pilot's station and Ignatius matched the Emperor's Children marine's courteous nod from nav. Both marines were armoured today, she noted, as they had been less frequently recently. They had obviously been busy; both suits gleamed brilliantly pristine under the bright bridge lighting, the luxuriant purple of Sedreth's Indomitus armour a brilliant contrast to the indomitable black of the Deathwatch captain.

Lieutenant Verstark, likewise immaculately uniformed, looked up from tactical scan and gave a faint half-smile. Sara smiled back.

"Good morning, everyone. You gentlemen have obviously been busy in the repair workshops, I see. Lieutenant. It's good to see you this morning. How is brother Sigurd?"

A deep voice answered her and she saw the Space Wolf's craggy features on a monitor screen. "I am well, captain. Well, better anyway. Although the servitor fills me full of anaesthetics if I try to sit up. Or to do anything more than talk." His voice sounded both frustrated and cynically amused.

She chuckled. "It is good to see you better, brother Sigurd. No doubt the Inquisitor will have experienced medical staff amongst her people, so you will be up and around again soon."

"If the Emperor wills it, captain. However, now that you are on duty, we can do what I arranged with brother-captain Ignatius last evening. Brother-captain, if you would do the honours?"

The marine captain smiled and stood. "It is my privilege and honour, brother. Lieutenant, would you come here, please?"

Looking puzzled, Verstark stood and walked over to the armoured giant.

Sedreth's voice was cold and hard. "Attention!" Sara instinctively came to attention, as did the others, Sedreth's armour making a massive crash as he slammed into position.

Ignatius took a small object from his utility belt and stood in front of the rigid young woman. "By the authority of the Ordo Malleus, and at the request of brother-astartes Sigurd of the Sixth Chapter Astartes, it is my honour to state the following. That on the Imperial warship _INS Golden Dawn_ when it was boarded by heretics and enemies of the Imperium all loyal officers on the bridge were shot. That one of those shot officers was not killed and had the intelligence and courage to await the best moment to strike back for the Emperor. That said officer played a vital and gallant part in both the defence of the ship and its eventual destruction, along with more than forty heretics of the former Emperor's Children Legio Astartes. That without her intervention, brother-astartes Sigurd would have died beside his commander, their mission only partially complete. In light of the aforegoing it is the decision of Deathwatch kill-team alpha six to present this emblem of her mental and physical courage and her loyalty. Wear it in honour, lieutenant Katrin Verstark, in the Emperor's name."

He pinned the wolfshead seal to her chest and snapped a salute.

Katrin Verstark stood still for a long moment, clearly shocked, then returned the salute. A single tear trickled slowly down her young face; she didn't seem to notice. It was only when Sedreth said 'Dismissed' that she rapidly left the bridge.

Sara met Ignatius' somewhat puzzled eyes as the faint sound of sobbing reached their ears.

"Leave her, captain. She needs to cry. She's needed to for a long time. She will come back when she recovers herself."

* * *

"Lady Coigreach, they are here."

Ekaterina nodded shortly, annoyed with the flunky's obsequiousness already. "Then let them in."

Still the chubby little man hesitated.

"Did you not hear me? Let them in." She snapped, silently wishing the Emperor's curse on all courtiers.

He bowed, almost lost in the richness of his voluminous robes, and bustled out. The doors slid open.

The two marines in the black armour of the Deathwatch lifted her just by their presence. There was something indomitable about the pair; this was what humanity should aspire to, she thought. The third figure, that walked and talked and was undeniably real, was both more massive and considerably more disturbing.

All three saluted – the traditional astartes salute, fist to chest, that was relatively rare in her experience. She gave a courteous nod in return.

"Brother-captain Ignatius," she said quietly, "I think your report should come first."

The warrior neither nodded acknowledgement nor changed expression. "Deathwatch kill-team alpha six reporting, Inquisitor. Two effectives. Four dead, including Lord Inquisitor Rein Gustavus. We encountered two separate chaos incursions in this system. One, an attempt by the traitor Word Bearers to infiltrate and pervert the world's traditional music festival was defeated with only minor injuries. The second, an attempt in strength by the heretic traitors of the Emperor's Children to capture their former vessel, the strike destroyer _Eyes of the Phoenix_, and to take control of the system, caused heavy civilian and military casualties. In the course of defeating the latter incursion, Lord Gustavus, brother-sergeant Meleriex, and brother-astartes Shere and Jeremiah were all killed, along with the entire crews of the system's guard vessels _Tenryu_ and _Golden Dawn_ which were likewise destroyed. Three hundred and forty-seven personnel on the orbital station were also killed during an attempt by the heretics to take it. I am honoured to report the deaths of the ancient heretic known as Julius Kaeseron and an estimated one hundred of his marines.

"Since the destruction of the two Imperial Navy vessels, I have commandeered _Eyes of the Phoenix_ for system defence until your arrival. My detailed report gives more precise information. At this time, the Meyis system remains under martial law pending investigation by the Imperial Inquisition."

"Thank you, captain. Perhaps you could introduce me to your companions?" The formality gave her a few more moments to assess the stranger astartes.

"Of course, Inquisitor. This is brother-astartes Sigurd, currently assigned to my kill-team from the astartes Space Wolves. And our companion is brother-sergeant Morgan Sedreth, who as you can see is of the Third Legio Astartes, 79th Combat Century."

She said nothing, looking straight at the tall, frighteningly handsome, man with the ice-cold blue-grey eyes. He didn't flinch from her gaze, a casual confidence in his stance that she suspected had nothing at all to do with the massive Terminator armour he was wearing. After several seconds she broke the silence.

"You claim to be an astartes marine of the Third Legion?"

"No, Inquisitor. I _am_ an astartes marine of the Third Legion," he replied solidly. "And have been since I received the geneseed implants in M29.743 to 746 shortly after the Emperor confirmed his son Fulgrim in command. I was formally reinstated to the Emperor's service by Lord Commander Dante of the astartes Blood Angels just over a year ago."

She bit back the instinctive reaction to that name. "You followed the arch-heretic in betraying your Emperor. I would know why."

The impassive face showed nothing.

"I want an answer, Morgan Sedreth."

"Before or after you summon your people in an attempt to take me into custody, Inquisitor? I would appreciate your not trying that, if you don't mind. I recently fought beside these two men, and have no desire to kill them just because the Inquisition is staffed by one fanatic too many." The man's voice was mild, but the contempt in it stung.

She held back the command at the tip of her tongue; always think rationally, her instructors, long dead, had drilled into her.

"You do not approve of the Holy Inquisition?"

"I do not. The Emperor is not a God. The Inquisition's actions too often bear more resemblance to those of followers of chaos than to civilised humans. Fighting evil with evil is ultimately doomed to failure."

She looked at the other two marines, then pressed the stud which allowed Mendez and his warriors to enter from the adjoining chamber. The ten Grey Knight Terminators walked silently through the doors to form a five-strong line on each side of their fellow astartes.

Mendez looked at her quietly, then shook his head.

Sedreth half-smiled. It looked strange to see a space marine look pleased at something; they were normally, in her admittedly limited experience, almost unreadable. He stepped forward and took the hands of three of the Grey Knights in turn, the warriors' grip, wrist to wrist.

"Brother-captain Mendez. Brother Joshua. Brother-sergeant Neihart, how is the new leg?"

Neihart nodded. "It works. In some respects it's better than the old one. Where did you get the new armour, Sedreth?"

"My old armour was destroyed by genestealers on the space hulk _Heresy of Corruption_. The Blood Angels' techmarines were good enough to repair this for me. Now I carry both the Emperor and the Angel into battle with me."

Neihart's expression softened fractionally in what might have been a smile. "The Blood Angels have excellent technical staff. How do you find it in battle?"

"Useful. I'm a little slower, but the more I use it the faster I get."

"I find that too," rumbled Joshua. "For some reason the more I practice, the luckier I am in battle."

Ekaterina blinked in surprise as several of the marines actually laughed, a series of basso rumbles. Mendez smiled briefly at her, a bare flicker of expression. "We may be the Emperor's chosen, Inquisitor, but we are still men. We feel the bonds of comradeship just as you do."

Sedreth nodded seriously. "Which is why the most hated opponents of the Emperor's astartes are their former brethren. A brother's betrayal is hardest to bear."

"And a brother's redemption the most celebrated," added Sigurd quietly.

Sedreth half-smiled at the Space Wolf, an air of serenity about him. "I have much to redeem myself from."

One of the other Grey Knights asked her question again. "But why? Why would you betray your Emperor in the first place?"

Sedreth stood thoughtfully for a moment, then spoke quietly into the expectant tension.

"Because I had no idea what I was getting into. Do any of you honestly believe that all the astartes involved in the Heresy rebelled because we were dedicated followers of chaos? Only fools think like that, and you all know better. It was gradual, Inquisitor, years, decades in the making. Only in hindsight is it easy to see the steps along the road to perdition; at the time we followed our commanders, not realising where they were going – indeed, I don't believe most of them had any idea either. Not until all was committed, and then there was no backing out. And by that time, most of the legion either no longer cared, or were so far gone that they willingly embraced the power the chaos deities offered."

"But what started it?" asked Ekaterina. She waved aside his expression. "I am not looking to condemn, Sedreth. But I want to know. We all want to know."

He sighed. "Very well, I shall try and explain as best I can. Honestly, Inquisitor, I was not involved in the plotting of it, so I do not know everything, only what I have picked up over the centuries. For the Legion, it started with the warrior lodge edict, just before the Laeran campaign. Not all of us were members, of course, but the lodges, allegedly spaces for marines to speak freely as brothers without the barriers of rank, changed the character of the Legion. We astartes are," he gestured to the other marines beside him, "proud of our deeds and our reputations and our honour. In the Children, at least, the lodges played on that. We and we alone bore the Emperor's sigil. We were the best, and we believed it. We were the Emperor's Children. But..."

"But?"

"But, after Ullanor, after the Emperor returned to Terra, it was whispered that He had been turned from His loyal astartes by whey-faced clerks and merchants, who had never risked life and limb themselves but stood to reap the benefits we had bled for. That is the sense of what the lodges taught in their sedition. Oh, not openly, not at first, but gradually, subtly. And slowly, so slowly that it wasn't noticeable at the time, the Legion transferred its primary loyalty from the Emperor to the Primarch, and thence to the Warmaster. And the Primarch did nothing. Why, you ask? I have a theory, well, perhaps more than just a theory. Towards the end of the Laeran campaign we destroyed a great temple, and from that temple – which with hindsight and experience I recognise as a temple to the Children's current chaos patron – the Primarch took a beautiful sword, silver with a massive uncut emerald in its hilt. We, he, had no way of knowing what it truly was, that sword."

"It was possessed?" she asked quietly, biting back her instinctive horror. She had seen what happened to those possessed by daemons.

"Indeed. Of course, even the greatest daemon cannot simply overwhelm and possess a being like a Primarch. It took years and years to seduce him. But he started to use it more and more, although he still wielded _Fireblade_, the Phoenix Sword that his brother Ferrus Mannus had made for him, too. And like the Legion, he grew prouder. He was proud that the Legion was _his_. Even above his father's. I suppose the first real signs came after Nicaea. There were rumours that the Primarch was angry with his father; that he believed the danger of having librarians was overstated. We had many of us fought beside Magnus and his Thousand Sons and we respected them for their skills and their abilities, their knowledge and their loyalty. Their promulgated vision of a peaceful and civilised galaxy was one we, who thought of ourselves as both a military and intellectual elite even amongst the Legions, could very much relate to. So the Emperor's Librarian Edict was a cause of much dismay; we had met enemy psykers before and many felt it was short-sighted not to have our own corps of powerful psykers available. That was the first time it was noticeable, that astartes openly spoke out against the Emperor, even by so much as questioning a decree. The Primarch was right and his father was wrong. Still, the Legion obeyed, and those who had trained as librarians went back to normal duties."

"But the seed of doubt was there."

"Yes, Ignatius. Then, just a couple of years later, came Murder, where we lost more men in weeks than we had in decades. Oh, we cursed Eidolon for his deployment, but we were also angry at the intelligence errors and at the Imperial orders which had kept the Primarch from being with us at the start of the campaign. He would never have got us cut up like that. Then, when he and Sanguinius did turn up, and not only saved the situation but led us in person to destroy the megarachnid,... well, you can see how that reinforced loyalty to him rather than the far-away Emperor. Little steps, you see."

"And the same was happening in the other Legions?"

"I presume so. The Luna Wolves adored Lupercal as a beloved father. The Death Guard I spoke to during those decades were likewise absolutely devoted to their own Primarch, but it was hardly unusual in any Legion. Sergeant Rahl, my honour brother in the Fourteenth Legion, was part of their Seventh Company's command squad, so he could have given me more of a picture, but we rarely had opportunity to meet, and we wouldn't have discussed that sort of thing anyway; it's not done."

"Rahl? I have not heard the name. It is not on any list of heretics I have seen."

"It wouldn't be. Pyr Rahl. He was killed on Isstvan Extremis by a warsinger. Fabius was there; he told me later, when I got back to the Isstvan system with the Primarch after the débâcle with the Iron Hands." He fell silent, a faraway look in the blue-grey eyes.

"Go on."

"Not much more to tell, Inquisitor. The die was cast by then. The Primarch and Ferrus Mannus had fought, anyone senior enough to rally the Legion in opposing the nascent rebellion was already dead and we were committed. Although most of us still believed that we were trying to save the Imperium rather than merely conquer it, we knew we'd have to conquer it first. Again. And it's also true to say that we had few objections to measuring ourselves against the best opponents available – the other Legions. We were skilled, we were arrogant, and we thought we were unbeatable; we expected to win. You have to understand; the Children had never lost, not even in a squad-level action." He gave a short half-laugh. "Damnation, Commissar, there are a few companies of the Children even today which have never known a real and actual defeat on a battlefield, even though they may have retreated by order at the behest of a commander. And after the Drop-Site Massacre we were certain we would win, and the corruption started to set in earnest, not that I cared."

"Why not?"

"I saw the fight between the Primarch and his brother Ferrus. I saw the thing in that damned sword take my genefather. All that mattered after that was killing; I had no other reason for existing. I became one of the most feared killers in a Legion of killers." He turned a cold, deadly gaze on her. "I doubt there are five dozen warriors in all the galaxy could take me one on one. And none who could take me without serious injury."

There was stark silence, then Ignatius broke the tension. "You're still arrogant." He smiled slightly as he said it.

Sedreth chuckled. "We've sparred, brother-captain."

Ignatius nodded. "I'm not saying it's not justified. Just that you're arrogant."

They shared a brief grin, then Sedreth answered in a serious tone. "I'm the last astartes of the Third Legion. The last of the true Emperor's Children. Nine Legions want me dead and will bend their considerable resources to ensure it. Well, eight will anyway – no-one ever knows what the Alpha Legion want. I'm not even sure if they know what they want. But they'll probably kill me on sight just on general principles, so let's call it eight and half. I have to be the best I can be in order to live long enough to complete the task He set me."

"Which is?"

"I don't know. But I shall. And I shall not fail in it." He suddenly looked directly at Mendez. "Is that why you're here, brother-captain? To determine whether I can be let loose?"

Mendez nodded. "Something like that. The Inquisition doesn't like you and doesn't trust you."

His gaze showed casual equanimity. "The feeling is entirely mutual. No offence, Inquisitor, but an Imperium where mercy and justice are at the whim of religious fanatics is not why we fought the Great Crusade."

Ekaterina nodded slowly. "No offence is taken, Sedreth. I would give a great deal for my office to be unnecessary."

He smiled slightly, cynically. The expression was somehow wrong on those chiselled features. "Blame Aurelian. The Urizen was convinced his father was a God; it unhinged him more than a little to be told that he wasn't, that his masterwork was entirely wrong."

Ekaterina glanced round, at equally puzzled faces. It was clear that Sedreth meant one of the traitor Primarchs, but in terms that were unfamiliar. "Who?"

Sedreth looked surprised. "You don't know? The Urizen was what they knew him as across half the galaxy in those days, rather than by his true name of Lorgar Aurelian. Yes, _that_ Lorgar. He wrote the _Lectitio Divinatus_; the worlds his Word Bearers brought into compliance worshipped the Emperor as a God, and the astartes as His Angels of Death. Damn, when was it? Must have been a few, three or four, decades before the Heresy, the Ultramarines hit one of those worlds, evacuated the populace by force and destroyed the cities, by the Emperor's direct order. Guilleman and Aurelian came to blows over it, or so the rumour was. Anyway, the Word Bearers, who had tended to take their time in bringing worlds into compliance, suddenly started to move faster. Now, of course, we know that they were inculcating worship of the dark Gods, but at the time it seemed like they were finally pulling their weight. And there were a lot of them, the Seventeenth was the largest Legion bar the Ultramarines, a full hundred companies of ten combat centuries each."

"A hundred thousand space marines?" The amazement was open in Joshua's deep voice.

He nodded. "Only Guilleman's Legion had more, and not by that much. You have to remember that there were just eighteen Legions at that time. Even the smallest, the Thousand Sons, was more than ten thousand strong. There were more than forty thousand Children and we were one of the smaller Legions too. Most were at least half again our size; Legions like the Iron Warriors, Space Wolves and Night Lords were all seventy or eighty thousand strong. Horus lost, not including the loyalists who he betrayed, nearly sixty thousand on Isstvan III, and the destruction of three full Legions at the Drop-site Massacre cost him nigh on a hundred thousand more despite the ambush and overwhelming odds. And he still had enough left to smash his way across the galaxy to Terra, while using almost three full Legions to keep the Ultramarines and other loyalists occupied."

"There were other forces involved, too, Sedreth," remarked one of the Grey Knights. Sedreth waved it aside.

"It was an astartes fight, brother. Planetary armies could not – still cannot – stand against the astartes. Any current Chapter could take any planet in the Imperium at a whim, unless another space marine force intervened. Yet the Space Wolves, even though they had Silent Sisters and Custodes with them in strength, lost nigh on forty thousand warriors – half their strength – taking Prospero just because it was defended by Magnus's Legion of Librarians." He looked at the Grey Knights, a brief nod also to Sigurd the Space Wolf. "You Grey Knights are all of you psykers. You know all too well how much power the Sons wielded. No offence to your brothers, Sigurd, but they were lucky Magnus had dismantled his main defences."

The Wolf nodded briefly. "None taken; truth holds no insult. I have read the histories. Had it not been for our own Rune Priests – and Lord Russ – we would have lost many more."

She nodded thoughtfully. The man was correct. No force in the Imperium could stand against the space marines for long. It was one of the greatest fears of the Inquisition, that of space marine rebellion. And with good reason.

"It is as well we won," said someone, a deep voice behind her.

Sedreth shook his head sadly. "No, brother. We lost. Where are the Primarchs today? Where is the Emperor? What of the flowering of literature and knowledge, of culture and civilisation, that we fought the Crusade for in the first place? The entire galaxy has been at constant war for ten thousand years. That is no victory."

"You think the ruinous powers won, then?" Her voice was hard, she knew.

He suddenly smiled, a genuine expression which made him even more handsome, if that was possible. "No, Inquisitor. Not yet. We lost one campaign, a great one. But there is still love and honour and truth. Humanity is not yet defeated. The dark powers do not understand that; cannot understand that. They are our worst aspects made manifest – hatred, lust, greed, cruelty, cowardice. But the best of us they cannot reach, nor destroy. Even in the chaos Legions, amongst their own most dedicated servants, humanity flowers ever and anew. The Death Guard hate us, but they hate themselves more, hate that they dishonoured themselves, that they surrendered to their pain. The Iron Warriors, the Children, the Night Lords, even the World Eaters, retain a twisted sense of honour, a desire to face their enemies. In all the Legions are vestiges of what they once were, twisted and perverted, perhaps, but refusing to die. How else could someone like me stand here? There is always hope, Inquisitor. Always. If we do not surrender to despair, we can still win. I am living proof of it."

* * *

Twelve days later a small naval squadron and a very energetic Inquisition team began to deal with the aftermath of one of the more serious chaos incursions in the sector's history. Despite several pressure-filled messages from her far-off superiors in the Holy Inquisition, Inquisitor Coigreach and her team were considerably less harsh than might have been expected given the traditions and history of the organisation. She took the viewpoint that 'what a population doesn't know won't hurt them' and merely eliminated, using the evidence gathered by her predecessor Rein Gustavus, the traitors' duped followers and their allies. Shortly afterwards, Brother-captain Mendez and his Grey Knight Terminators were pleased to report to their superiors that the attempted seduction of the system by the Heretic Word Bearers was unsuccessful, and that the local population's loyalty to His Imperial Majesty remained undiminished.

Of the rogue trader strike destroyer _Eyes of the Phoenix_ little was reported beyond the bare facts of its assistance to the late Lord Inquisitor Gustavus.

Of the astartes sergeant known as Morgan Sedreth, nothing was reported at all.


	26. Chapter Twenty-five

**Chapter Twenty-five**

The docks were ancient and worn. Rather, she thought, like most of the travellers moving on them. Like she was. Well, worn, anyway. She toted her duffle along the long metal deck to the hire-board. This would be her fifth hire-on since leaving. Or would be once she found it anyway. She scrutinised the advertisements carefully. For destinations, positions, not wages. The money wasn't important as the availability.

She knew she was running, if she stopped long enough to let herself think about it. The trick was not to think about it, to work hard enough so the nightmares didn't wake her from exhaustion. She sighed as her search came up empty, slots available only for experienced – well, more experienced – people, or scutwork. Though she could manage that if the ship was going somewhere that might be useful, somewhere more populated, or nearer Sol. And Terra.

Kat had barely realised her ultimate goal at first, only understanding her seeming whim when after her third ship she realised she had come nearly a third of the way to humanity's cradle. Now, less than a hundred light years out, she was finding it harder to find the right ship. She could, of course, have joined a pilgrim ship – there were many of them. But she wasn't going just to pray at the famed temples. She wasn't, if she was honest, entirely sure why she was going to Terra at all; it was just a journey being made, like an instinct. She thought about it for a second, then shied away from the introspection and the memories.

Deliberately, she turned her attention to the hospice list. Yes, there. A quiet place. A veteran's inn. She preferred those, places where men and women were not surprised to see a worn uniform jacket like the one she wore. Places where no-one asked awkward questions, and where there was a sense of belonging. She hadn't felt like she belonged in a long time.

* * *

Tigh watched the young woman walk through 'The Anchor's well-kept but slightly down-at-heel sliding doors. Pretty thing, he thought, though her colouring was a bit unusual. You didn't get many people with that coppery hair and pale skin in this sub-region of bright white-yellow stars; humans here tended to darker skin and hair, with its greater protection from harsh sunlit worlds. His experienced eyes took in the slightly worse for wear naval jacket – ex-officer, then. Young, to be demobbed; no visible injuries, but there was that something about the gait, the tension behind the blue eyes, that showed why she was no longer a naval officer. Something had hurt her, deep inside, and she probably wouldn't be much more than a liability on a warship. He'd seen combat stress before, and this woman, barely more than a child, had a bad case of it. Still, 'The Anchor' was there for people like her, especially. He smiled at her as she approached.

"Evening, lieutenant. Looking for a room?"

She nodded. Handed over her papers; he flicked through. Verstark, K.M., lieutenant, _INS Golden Dawn _(discharged with honours). The date was eighteen months ago standard. He very carefully didn't react when he saw the Lupus crest on the inside back cover and handed the documents back.

"We're not exactly luxury. Don't get many officers in here."

She shrugged. "Would that be a problem?"

Tigh shook his head. "Not at all, lieutenant."

"I'm not a lieutenant any more. Call me, Katrin, or Kat."

Tigh smiled again, much more genuine than the reassurance he'd previously used. "I'm Tigh, then. Lately sergeant, Imperial Guard. You call me Tigh. How long are you staying?"

"I don't know. Until I can get another ship."

"Paying your passage or working it?" he asked, although the answer was obvious.

She smiled faintly. "Working. Scan, if I can get it."

"Better take the room for a couple of weeks then. We do get a few traders, but not many looking for bridge crew. Engineering, cargo, mostly. Otherwise, general low-level stuff on ships unable to afford servitors. If you pay in advance that's ten credits a night; pay when you leave and it's twelve."

She nodded. "In advance, then." He took her credcube, billed it, and handed her the room wand.

"Mess is 0600 to 0900, evenings 1830 to 2200. Fixed menu, but it's better than service rations. Room has its own vid; usual station channels are free, other stuff costs – just plug your cube in to pay. And there's a chapel if you want to use it. A few of our long-termers set it up."

"Thankyou." She took the wand and her papers, hitched her duffle higher on her shoulder and walked through the

Tigh watched her until she was out of sight. He wondered briefly what she'd got the Lupus for, then decided he probably didn't want to know. The Space Wolves didn't exactly hand non-astartes awards like sweets from a jar.

* * *

The room was comfortable, if functional. A warm, well-worn coverlet broadly striped in faded red and orange was folded neatly on the bed. A clean grey carpet under a desk and chair, with two wall-mounted shelves empty above the heavy worn synth-wood writing surface. A door led to a toilet and shower; beside it was a floor to ceiling cupboard that on inspection held towelling and bedclothes with just enough space left for her few changes of clothing. Military, almost. Efficient and basic. She put her duffle on the bed and put her gear away, then tapped the console, using the log-in she'd been given at reception. A list of mealtimes and dos and don'ts scrolled up. She noted them and switched off again, then set to making up the bed. Sleep was what she wanted right now. She set her watch for six hours; that would allow her to catch evening mess.

* * *

The mess hall was plainly decorated, with a well-maintained aquila on one dark green wall and simple sturdy tables with benches lined in half a dozen rows. A small queue of men and women waited in front of a long serving hatch, behind which three men handed out bowls and plates of food. On the wall where she came in was a small hand-written sign which read '_Remember: No meal without your roum key!_'. She held herself back from correcting the spelling and joined the end of the queue.

The woman in front of her turned and smiled slightly. "Hello there. New in?"

She nodded, taking the offered hand politely. "Arrived today. I'm Katrin Verstark, but most people call me Kat."

"Pol Tekit. The lump in front of me is Malachi Abersy, but everyone calls him Mab." The skinny, worn-down man ahead of her turned his head half round and gave a lopsided grin that softened his scarred face. Pol went on, "You Navy, then?" She gave nod towards Kat's jacket.

Kat nodded.

"You're a bit young to be out already," said the man, Mab. His tone was casual, mildly inquisitive, but not accusing. Well, not very.

She shrugged, not really comfortable with the question. Her career had been a necessary sacrifice on the altar of the Inquisition. As had the three months in custody under interrogation, though no charges of heresy had been brought and her discharge had been an honourable one. But she didn't really want to share that right now. She met Mab's brown-eyed gaze flatly. "I was wounded and medical had me unfit for further combat duties. I took the discharge instead."

He nodded. "Happens." He turned more, and she realised he was missing most of his right arm. His grin held a welcoming familiarity as he hefted towards the missing limb. "Lost it on a xenos world; bionics wouldn't take on a poisoned wound." He offered his remaining hand, and she took it briefly. Firm and dry.

The line moved on ahead of them and Pol pushed her companion slightly. He looked at her, but moved obediently, showing his room pass and taking a serving tray and cutlery; Kat noticed the mess did not use slop trays, but, unusually, actual crockery, fired ceramics, clean and well-kept. She took a tray in her turn, putting knife, fork and spoon on the worn grey plastic. The plate of stew she was handed was generous and smelled good; her stomach, used to shipboard rations for the last month, suddenly felt much emptier. She followed Pol's lead in taking a piece of red-orange fruit and a bowl of soup; the serving man returned a short nod in recognition of her thanks. The other woman gave her a brief smile and led her over to a table near the far wall where Mab and two other men had taken seats.

"This is Kat, guys," said Mab by way of introduction, and indicated a seat beside Pol and opposite himself.

Kat nodded politely and took the offered place on the bench. No-one was standing on ceremony; just digging in, so she dipped her spoon into the soup and started. It _was_ good, a hearty, meaty concoction, and she returned Mab's knowing smile with a slight grin.

They ate in companionable silence for a while, with occasional remarks from one or other about their day. It appeared that most of the people at the table worked part-time around the docks, or small manufactoriums on the station. None of them seemed to have a full-time job, simply doing enough to make up, she presumed, their small discharge pensions into the income they wanted. Presumption could of course be wrong, she reminded herself. She looked across at a grey-haired man with soft blue eyes as he said something to her.

"Sorry, I was thinking about something else."

He gave a slow half-smile and spoke in a quiet deep voice. "Inken, formerly of the Vorloyan 7th. You're navy, right?"

She nodded. "Yes. Kat Verstark. Pleased to meet you."

He waved a fork in acknowledgement. "Likewise. Where'd you buy your piece?"

She blinked. "I'm sorry?"

He chuckled softly as Mab slugged him lightly across the arm. "Sorry. Where I come from anyone who's KIA is said to have bought the farm; a wounded discharge is 'buying a piece of land'."

"Oh, right. I understand. Raid in my home system. I broke a shoulder and got shot in the gut."

"They couldn't fix you up?"

She shook her head; she'd had this sort of conversation before. "Yes, but not so I could still have kids."

Pol looked at her sympathetically, but puzzled. "Having children isn't a requirement for Imperial service."

"My ship was captured. I was able to set the self-destruct and blow it up; just me and one other got off. A medical discharge was cleaner than a court-martial – for everyone. But since I can't have kids, I couldn't stay at home and get married, so I left." She shrugged slightly, trying not to let them see how much that had hurt.

"What class of ship?"

"Cobra class destroyer."

"Whoa," said Mab. "That's what, ten thousand crew?"

She flushed. "Fifteen. I grew up with a whole lot of them." She met his eyes as hard as she could. "I'd prefer not to talk about it." She took another bite of her fruit.

"Fair enough," answered Mab without rancour. He turned to the third man at the table. "Caven, did you hear anything good today?"

The dark-haired man shook his head. "Nothing much. Some pilgrims came in, all declaiming some miraculous rescue from pirates. A few rumours about a new labour directive. Oh, and some garbled shit about the Throne of the Primarch on Macragge glowing again."

"Glowing?"

"Yeah, you know, ever since the 'Miracle' there a few years ago all sorts of rumours have been around."

There was laughter, not harsh, but rough and cynical nonetheless. A dark-skinned man leaned across from a neighbouring table, his single dark eye holding hers.

"It's all bollocks. I trusted in my las-carbine and prayerbook. His Grace was good enough to keep me alive in action for ten years; that's enough miracle for me."

"Yeah," added the man beside him. Kat noted they both wore the same faded unit patch, a pair of black stars on a red- and blue-striped rectangle. "Onliest miracle I ever seen was His Space Wolves, jest that one time. Iffen you're in a war zone, real livin' breathin' miracles with big guns beats any glow, any time."

"You said a mouthful, bro'."

Pol chuckled. "Honestly, you two. You're not the only soldiers ever to see space marines in action, you know."

"Ah, Pol, but we're the only ones here as seen the Space Wolves."

Kat tried to hide her reaction, but the speaker caught it and looked at her. "What? _You_'ve seen Space Wolves?"

She nodded reluctantly. "Just one. He was on a Deathwatch team."

Pol's look showed sudden understanding. "That's why they didn't court martial you for blowing up your ship. It was taken by xenos, right?"

She hesitated, then shook her head. "No. Not by xenos."

A sudden choked noise came from behind her and she looked round to see Tigh's eyes large and understanding. "That's why you got it."

She blushed, suddenly wanting out of the conversation. Slowly she nodded, pleading with her eyes for him to stay quiet. He looked apologetic.

"Got what?" asked Mab and Inken together.

Tigh looked at her, then answered slowly. "She got the Lupus Imperialis."

"Throne of Terra!" whispered into the sudden silence. She flushed, feeling like a fraud amongst these warriors. What was one desperate moment against all their years of service? Half-blinded by sudden tears she started to stand; Pol tugged her back down.

"Easy, Kat. You're among friends here."

She flushed and shook her head stubbornly.

"We're all soldiers of the Emperor here, girl," came Mab's voice. "There's forty-odd regulars stay here and between us that's a lot of service time. We've been there too. No-one's gonna judge you; we've all had to do what was right 'stead of what was easy. And we know how it hurts."

"You need to tell someone. Trust us; we know."

"Yeah, and better us than any arse-licking pen-pushing remf."

She shook her head. "No. It's not,.. just .." She trailed off, lost for words.

Pol lifted her by the chin and met her eyes. "When you're ready, okay?"

* * *

'When you're ready' turned out to be several days later, a chance conversation with Pol turning into a confessional of sorts. Pol and her friends, sworn to secrecy, were duly horrified at the infamous traitor astartes and the depredations – limited as her experience was – by them and their adherents. However, as experienced combat veterans, they were also well able to understand the imperative that had caused her to kill more than ten thousand loyal Navy personnel.

"You had to do it," said Mab. "First, for your own point of view, you were ordered to by a Deathwatch astartes. He would have killed you without qualm if you'd refused. But second, and more importantly, he knew, and you know – and pretty much all of us here know – what would have happened to your crewmates, your planet, and maybe even Imperial defence in the sector. You had the ability and knowledge to stop them. Only you."

Other grim faces nodded at his words. Tigh spoke for them all when he spoke quietly. "They were dead already once those devils got control of the ship. You didn't kill them; you just stopped them from dying worse."

It took several subsequent talks, and private discussions, with the other veterans, before she felt comfortable enough to accept her decision, but the guilt still lingered. With suitable onwards passage fairly rare, she tried to find a short-term job and was able to secure some dock work filling in data. It was pretty mindless, but it kept her busy enough not to dwell on her past.

Kat had been in the hostel for nearly seventeen standard weeks before Pol, who had contacts in shipping control, informed her that a Terra-bound pilgrim vessel was due to dock the next day, and that its senior scan officer had been taken ill. There was a high possibility that the _Praiseworthy Endeavour_ would be looking for scan back-up. As a decorated ex-Navy officer, Kat would have a decent chance of getting the berth, at least as far as Terra. And Terra had uncounted thousands of vessels in constant transit, so she would have an excellent chance of finding a position from there.

After a short discussion, she allowed Pol to slip her name into consideration, and the good news came later that evening while at mess; she was requested to attend an interview as off-shift scan officer the next morning shift while the vessel took on supplies and fuel.

"You had better wear a uniform jacket," said Mab.

She shook her head. "I'm not Imperial Navy any more. Not entitled. I have a standard issue bridge jacket which I can wear."

"Put on your decorations, though," said Pol with a brief smile. "A pilgrim ship will be keen to check things like faith and loyalty. Might as well make a point," she added cynically.

Inken nodded thoughtfully. "Fair point. They're not exactly going to look too closely if they see that Lupus. You'd have to be a pretty clever traitor to get one of those."

Several of the vets laughed. Kat realised anew how much she was going to miss these hard-bitten warriors whose hard-won cynicism somehow managed to translate into solid loyalty to the Emperor of Mankind.

* * *

Captain Havren S'yer sat behind his massive well-polished desk musing on his options. His senior scan officer, Ketil Hawdren, with whom he'd served on the old _Endeavour_ for some twenty years, a good reliable man, had caught a minor fever, presumably from one of their several thousand passengers. Given the exigencies of warp travel and the possibilities of on-board contagion, he was obliged to ask Hawdren to remain in isolation until the medical staff cleared him, and that could be several days. Since this would play merry hell with his schedule he was also obliged to replace his senior scan on the main-day shift. In turn this left him short-handed – though only marginally so – on the off-day second shift.

He could simply carry on, of course. His officers were perfectly capable of managing even with one experienced scan station short-handed, but it was not something he's ever been in favour of. S'yer was a cautious captain, a man who considered that Murphy's Law was a reality to consider rather than a superstition. To that end he was considering hiring a replacement junior scan at their current docking and there had been a couple of interesting applicants, the next up being the most intriguing of the bunch.

He picked up the printout again. Katrin Verstark, former naval subaltern, honourably discharged following combat injury, Lupus Imperialis, Imperial Navy Medal. And currently living in a run-down veterans' hostel while working data entry on the docks. Now, why would a decorated Imperial hero be living in a cheap place like that?

There was a tap on his door.

"Come."

"Captain, your appointment is here."

"Send her in."

The woman who walked through the door didn't look much like a hero. Her soft blue eyes showed an age that did not fit the smooth youthful features beneath the shoulder-length coppery hair. Her jacket was neat, standard civilian issue, without more indication than the small ribbons below the left lapel to indicate her service decorations. S'yer found that he rather liked that; it indicated a suitable humility for a junior officer, rather than the attitude he had feared from his previous, admittedly limited, experience with other retired military heroes.

He sat silent for several seconds, letting any tension she might have build. Nothing showed on the pale face. He allowed a fractional smile.

"Lieutenant Verstark, I presume?"

"At your service." A calm professional tone. S'yer noted the lack of prayer without surprise; most military veterans felt no need to pepper their speech with pieties.

"I've read your record, lieutenant. Might I enquire why you are looking for a position on my ship?"

She nodded, as if expecting the question. "I am interested in seeing Holy Terra. Many of my home-world's stories tell of ancestors who came from a place there called 'Australia', and I would very much like to see what remains of that land. I have been working passage in that direction for the last several months."

Ah. That explained a lot. S'yer nodded slowly. "A not uncommon situation. You are certainly not alone in the desire to see the lands of your ancestors. I am surprised that you do not express a desire to visit the many holy places on humanity's cradle."

She met his gaze without flinching. "There are many thousands of holy places on Terra. I would be honoured to be able to visit some of them."

"Indeed." S'yer lifted the printout again. "I am glad to hear it. We will have completed lading this time tomorrow; is that sufficient time to get yourself signed out of your current accommodations and on board?"

She nodded. "Yes, sir. Easily"

"My first officer is outside and will arrange both a billet and a ship's uniform for you. I presume your are familiar with standard mercantile terms and conditions?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. I'd prefer that you be aboard no later than oh-seven-hundred for orientation on our systems."

The woman nodded. "Not a problem, sir. I'll be here at oh-six-thirty."

S'yer smiled briefly. "Very well. I shall inform the dock watch to expect you. Dismissed. Oh, and welcome aboard."

"Thank you, sir." She saluted – military; she would have to get out of that habit – turned, and left. S'yer didn't stand, merely watching her go without expression, keeping his thoughts to himself.


	27. Chapter Twenty-six

**Chapter Twenty-six**

Terra was,... different. Monstrously crowded, even more than she had expected, with uncounted thousands upon thousands of pilgrims swarming like insects from holy site to holy site. And there were thousands of such sites; enormous monuments tens of kilometres high proclaiming the glory of the Emperor, of the great Saints of Imperial history. She had followed several groups over the last few days, just another mote in the endless sea of worshippers. It was terrifying to feel so small, so insignificant; she did not like the feeling of being one amongst millions nearly as much as she had thought she might.

Today, though, was better; she had managed to find a clue that made sense. In a small – relatively small anyway – shrine in the Petitioners' City was an ancient wall-map, painted in shaded blues and golds and greens. The priest she had asked had said that it was fanciful, the colours mere whimsy on the part of the unknown artist. Kat, from a more natural world, knew better; the blue was sea, the ancient seas of Terra, drained or diverted to serve mankind millennia ago. And amongst those long-lost oceans was a large island, an island marked 'terra Australis'. She had marked it carefully and looked up the schedules for transit. This afternoon she would walk on the soil of her forefathers.

* * *

The plascrete was no different from anywhere else, and the air still carried the stench of Terra's uncounted milliards; just another enormous edifice, beyond the hive cities she had seen as they were beyond mud huts. She didn't know whether to be angry or sad, or grateful that mankind could produce such miraculous works. She spent some hours searching for a transit in and out; it took two days to find one close enough to the ancient foundations that she could leave by a gate which was still actually in use. The flittertaxi she'd hired dropped her off nearby; she did not want the pilot to get any idea of her plans in case she was reported. Explaining that she wanted to touch the actual soil of this particular part of Terra was likely to be awkward. She made her way towards the exit doors, massive ancient devices more than a hundred metres high embossed with pitted and corroded scenes of Imperial devotion. It was a simple matter to walk out through a more human-sized side access, and she was out.

The roadway was on the same monstrous scale as the city itself – indeed, as Terra generally. Fifty metres wide, it stretched for kilometres off towards the far distant horizon. The sun was still high, and the sky cloudless, but at this level even Sol's brightness had difficulty cutting through the dust clouds and exhaust gases from the dozens of delivery vehicles that ran in a constant stream in and out. Kat kept carefully to the clearly unused pedestrian track that bordered the highway, looking for some means of getting off towards the actual ground. She was still over two hundred metres up, so jumping was not an option, but – there – was a stairwell down, open to the elements and with a patina of lichens and dried-out moss, but down. She took it, following the multiple flights to another, lower, roadway, less used and less maintained, but heading off towards the northeast. She took a drink from her water bottle, glad she'd remembered to bring enough to last her a day or maybe two if she was careful. She didn't intend to stay outside overnight, but it was more than likely she would be quite late getting back and it did no harm to take precautions.

* * *

Kat smiled slightly as she ran her fingers through the dry brown earth. She sat by a small stream, watching the clear water scatter refractions of fading sunlight across the rocks. There was hardly any grass in this tiny oasis, just an old break in the industrial plascrete where a few hardy weeds had found a foothold, but somehow it felt glorious, a throwback to Terra's ancient past. She had taken a small pebble from the stream bed, and now turned it over, feeling the cool smooth surface and marvelling at the dark striations. How old was it? These were not artificial layers.

A movement caught her eye and she looked across at some form of small rodent, all grey-furred nervousness as it sniffed cautiously before slipping out of a gap in the rock to take a drink. She watched, fascinated, wondering what type of animal it was. As far as she was aware, almost all native wildlife to Terra had been either hunted to extinction, or transplanted to other worlds. She tried to remain still rather than frighten the creature away, but it seemed to pick up on her tension and scurried back to its crack. She smiled to herself and looked up to the darkening sky. The familiar words rose up in her mind.

"When I was a young man, I carried my pack.."

* * *

Supervisor Inez Hobren looked up curiously at the flashing comms light. Idly putting down his cup, he reached for the switch.

"Yes, Aben?"

"Sir, I'm picking up something strange on an external pickup. It sounds like singing."

"Singing? Probably some pilgrims again. Which hymn this time?"

"I don't know, sir. I don't recognise the language at all."

Inez swore under his breath. "Put it through." There was a soft click and a woman's voice filled his small office. It didn't sound threatening, but it wasn't any language he'd ever heard either. He spoke into the mike. "Have you a recording?"

"Yes, sir," came the reply. "It started only a couple of minutes ago, and I hit the autorecord."

"Good, Aben. Don't listen to any more of it; I'll have a couple of Arbites look into it. Send me the location details now."

"Yes, sir." His screen lit up with a series of co-ordinates. He sighed and reached for the channel to the Arbites.

* * *

"Singing? Some woman is singing and they want us to head outside to check out a bloody hymn?" Leti Gier was not a happy Arbites-sergeant.

"Not a hymn; it's not Gothic," answered her partner of five years, Iacob Kendy, shaking his close-cropped greying head.

"There are a lot of languages that are not Gothic, Iacob. Terra gets pilgrims from across the known galaxy. Have they a translation?"

"Not yet. That's why they want us to check it out."

She cursed quietly. Right at the end of her shift too. She linked to the co-ordinates they'd been sent and hit the autopilot. Their little patrol skimmer lifted slowly off the ground – as usual she grimaced and wondered when maintenance would get round to fixing the lift engine – and joined the traffic flow.

"This is patrol seventeen, confirming en route to incident forty-six beta. Can we have update on status as soon as we have a translation, please?"

The impersonal voice of Central Despatch replied, its machine-voice devoid of inflection. "Request confirmed. Translation unavailable at this time; recording matches no Imperial language."

Leti rolled her eyes. "Suggestion; try non-Imperial language. There are planets out there which still use pre-Imperium, or xenos, words and dialects."

"Affirmed. Proceed to co-ordinates given."

"Patrol seventeen, continuing to incident forty-six beta." She cut the transmission.

Forty minutes later, she was even less happy. "Nothing. Whoever was here, they're long gone." She rolled her eyes in frustration and turned to call in the negative.

* * *

Tech-archivist Anod picked up the message on his internal link and plugged into his tertiary mem-archive, the one with the pre-Imperial records. He rarely accessed this archive as its machine spirit tended to be tetchy at best, and more than a little uncooperative all the time. Still, the recording might provide something of interest to the ancient 'artificial intelligence' (as it insisted on being called).

The voice spoke in his mind, far colder and impersonal than more modern devices. '_Data storage system 79-451 working. Log in testing...accepted._ _Welcome, scholar Anod. My internal clock indicates you have not logged in for eight years. I will run standard maintenance routines as they have been neglected._'

Anod grimaced slightly. That meant at least a ten minute delay. He replied through the interfacing connection. '_Acceptable. I shall provide you with a recording; the language is unknown. Do you recognise it?_'

'_Working_. _Upload facility available in seventeen minutes._'

Anod cursed, and turned to his inbox.

* * *

"Anglic?"

'_Affirmative. Anglic, also known as English. Widely used pre-Imperial Terran language originating in small group of islands offshore of the Europa continent. Primary language of Amerik Imperium and Pan-Atlantic Oligarchy prior to Imperial conquest. Records indicate it was a primary language of commerce and literature throughout Terra and its colonies during the expansion of humanity in the fourth and fifth millennia. Superseded by Imperial High Gothic for literary works; low Gothic for general conversation; Imperial trade-dialect for commerce. The version of Anglic used in the recording is extremely old, pre-dating 96.37% of my existing records._'

"Extremely old? Explain reasoning."

'_Working: item – parsing, incorrect use of adjectives as adverbs. Reason; considered to have been adverbs rather than adjectives in earliest dialects known. _

_Item – geographical references: Australia – known as Terra Australis since sixth millennium; Suvla Bay – unknown; Gallipoli – recorded as site of massacre during second millennium; Circular Quay – unknown. Recording indicates that Gallipoli massacre may have been decisive combat rather than atrocity; this is new information and requires verification. _

_Item – description of failure to provide cybernetics to wounded. Cybernetics are widespread since fourth millennium. _

_Item – reference: 'in 1915'. Appears to be date. Imperial equivalent: 915.M2_

_Item – reference: Waltzing Matilda. Derivation: waltz – ancient dance for man and woman with many variations. Matilda – ancient female name. Combination considered slang term; meaning unrecorded. Parsing of recording indicates may reference to travelling in area described as 'outback'. Outback recorded as 'ancient, referring to virgin terrain of Terra Australis' in fifth millennium._'

"Does recording indicate any threat to Imperium?"

'_Negative. Recording appears to be lament for fallen comrades._'

"Anything on vocal pattern of singer?"

'_Non-Terran female. Full human. Vocal range consistent with soprano. Untrained but experienced singer. Planetary origin unknown._'

"Very well. Print report to file."

Anod had to admit the information was interesting. A song that was forty millennia old? Such a discovery would be published in prestigious academic journals. Of course it would still need verification. He paused, deep in thought. The Scholarium would need to be informed. Even so, his name would still get credited. He smiled and turned back to the immediate issue, writing a report for the Arbites.

* * *

Three days later Kat Verstark took passage as a scan officer on the trade ship _Pleasance_. The Arbites found no further trace of the mysterious woman nor of her song. Tech-archivist Anod passed on his report to Imperial historians at the University of Terra, where it was buried under a hundred others of more immediate impact.


	28. Interludes

**Interludes**

The cards slewed across the table, untouched. The cloaked ominous figure stood impassive as patterns made and remade themselves. Eventually the dance stopped. The old woman took one look and whimpered, clearly terrified beyond the ability to make coherent sound.

There was a flare of power and the table flashed to ashes. The oracle, weakling that she was, gazed in helpless pleading at his helm. His arm came up and the mass-reactive shell blew her skull across the faded and dust-patina'd wall. The cloaked figure vanished in a scarlet flare of light.

The corpse was never discovered, just a few bones, gnawed away by vermin and scavengers.

* * *

Arch-cardinal Athios, Guardian of the Golden Cathedral of Vias, Keeper of the Scared Relictory of Saint Ajiala, whimpered in utter terror. He would have screamed but the heavy ceramite boot on his throat made it impossible to make such a noise.

"Pederasty is not a saintly or honourable hobby," came the soft feminine voice from his left. His left, where his favoured assistant, Hegel, lay in a pool of his own guts, choking out each agonised breath as his lungs slowly filled with blood.

His eyes darted round the richly furnished private apartment; a last, futile, search for assistance. The two drugged boys – his intended amusements for the evening – lay naked on his sumptuous satinate sheets, unharmed, unconscious and uncaring. The heavy boot pressed down and his trachea gave way. Athios' last sight was an Imperial Aquila shining golden on purple armour. It was beautiful.

"Foolish man," said Sara, sadly. "Brought low by his own lusts. Still, despite his perversions, he had not entirely turned to evil."

She turned a burning gaze on the still-living man bubbling in pain. "You, on the other hand," she said, her voice suddenly cold and merciless.

A swift grasp tore the blood-stained robes to reveal his cult tattoo. Somewhere, Hegel's pain-filled mind grasped the dreadful certainty of his own punishment; the Lord of Change did not accept failure. The woman's face above him could have been carved from stone and held as much pity.

"Enjoy your reward, heretic." A long metal blade filled his vision and then there was only pain.

"Any others?"

"That was the last. In any case, the Ecclesiarchy will hot-foot an investigatory team here when they are discovered. They will tear the local hierarchy apart, just in case."

"What about the two boys?"

"They will be safe enough. Their families are important; they cannot simply vanish. We have no facilities to look after them in any case."

A nod. "Janey, two to teleport."

There was a flare of bright whiteness, and they were gone.

* * *

The great hall was noisy, crowded with warriors in and out of armour. The ancient tables groaned with roasted meats and traditional breads, and deep voices laughed and boasted of fell deeds and victories. Despite these warriors' familiarity with advanced technology, the celebratory gathering would have been immediately recognisable to any of their kinsfolk on the other continents. The Space Wolves held tradition dear.

This gathering, though, was not merely for show. Since the events thirty-five decades past between the Inquisition and the Chapter, few Wolves had accepted secondment to the Deathwatch. Today, one of those few had returned, and the celebratory feast was in his honour. Other Chapters might have held a formal parade; the Wolves did things differently, as they had always done. At the Great Wolf's request, all the Great Companies had sent representatives tonight, and both the returning warrior's own Great Company and that of the Great Wolf were present in full, as were their commanders, Krom Dragongaze and Logan Grimnar, and a third Wolf lord, the legendary Harald Deathwolf, who had been recruiting to his warriors following heavy casualties against orks in the Armageddon Reach.

As their warriors swapped tales, Grimnar spoke more seriously with his senior commanders; the orks of the Reach appeared to have a more powerful than usual warboss, one Ghazkull, and were starting to pose a serious threat to which the Wolves would have to respond. Even at feast, the business of war retained its priority. Their conversation was interrupted by a massive boom from the massive, and closed, doors at the Hall's end.

Grimnar stood and spoke the traditional demand. "Who approacheth the Halls of Russ?"

A mighty voice, artificial yet purposeful, answered. "A returned brother, a true son of the Wolf, demandeth entrance."

"Who art thou, to speak of his behalf?"

"I. My name be Bjorn, likewise called the Fell-handed, skilled in war and a warrior of the Chapter. Open the gates."

The Deathwolf stood and spoke. "Bjorn is known to me, a warrior I am proud to call brother. Open the gates."

Grimnar raised his left fist, and opened it in the traditional sign of kinship. "Let the gates open."

Hidden servo-motors worked silently. The great doors, panelled in wood and embossed in brass, but truly consisting of two-metre thick adamantium plate, swung slowly wide.

Along the aisle between the feast tables strode the mighty dreadnought, dominating the room not only by size, but also by the power of legend; even in this company, relatively few had ever spoken with the oldest astartes still in service. Beside him walked a slighter but still mighty figure, an astartes marine clad in the black armour of the Deathwatch, and bearing the chapter sigil of the Space Wolves on his pauldron. He bore a massive heavy bolter at parade rest, and his helmet was clipped to his belt to reveal a greying beard and heavily grey-streaked hair in braids.

The Dragongaze stood and spoke into the silence. "This is my brother Sigurd, who took service with the Deathwatch companies three decades past."

The black-clad warrior brought his weapon and form to perfect attention, and saluted, fist to chest. "Lord Dragongaze, I greet thee anew. I am returned from honourable service and require my place in your company, as is fitting."

The Wolf Lord's face did not change expression. "Speak, warrior, that your deeds be known and your fitness to return to the Chapter be assessed by this company."

"By your command," replied Sigurd. The tension grew as the Hall suddenly fell quiet. So far all had been tradition; the warrior's tale, however, would be new, and recorded by the Chapter's sagamasters for instruction and to add to the books of deeds. If accepted.

"In this hallowed place I honour warriors of the Emperor, brothers who fell in His service. In these Halls I name brother-sergeant Meleriex of the Raven Guard, brother-astartes Klair Shere of the Tigers Argent, brother-astartes Jeremiah of the Iron Snakes, Lord Inquisitor Rein Gustavus of the Inquisition, all of whom gave their lives to defeat the forces of chaos. I name INS Lieutenant Katrin Verstark, who destroyed her own ship to kill a hundred traitor astartes."

A pause. An indrawn breath from hundreds of throats.

Sigurd nodded, not without a certain anticipation for the pandemonium he was about to unleash, and went on, "And in this hallowed place I name as a true ally of the Wolves brother-sergeant Morgan Sedreth, who was saved by the Emperor from the heresy into which he had fallen and bears again the aquila as the last true astartes of the Emperor's Children."

* * *

a/n this is a slight break, a few internal drabbles which didn't really fit anywhere else, but aren't enough to make up a full chapter. For those paying attention, it also brings us more precise timeline; alert readers may note an interesting discrepancy, which I assure you is deliberate.


	29. Chapter Twenty-seven

**Chapter Twenty-seven**

The huge vessel lay quiescent at dock, its graceful prow facing outwards towards the vastness of space. _Eyes of the Phoenix_ seemed pent, almost watchful, as if eager to continue its endless journeys between the stars. Yet, despite the size of the kilometres-long 'trade' ship, the hull remained dark and ominous, only a few mobile dock lights sparking an occasional glitter from the golden aquiline figurehead and the massive two-headed eagle on its great control tower. On that tower only a few high-up lights gleamed in the dark, almost too little to show that the ship was a construct built and crewed by men rather than some monstrous metallic creature spawned in an alien void between the worlds of humanity.

Behind those few lights, _Phoenix_'s few crew were nearing the tail-end of an hours-long discussion that had covered recent engagements against both Imperial and xenos dangers, cargo ladings and manifests, budgets, and the somewhat vexed question about whether to recruit a Navigator. The argument had been unresolved and all involved had agreed to let it lie for the moment rather than allow any source of discord to interrupt the evening meal.

"So, Morgan, what's our course?"

Sedreth chuckled softly. "You're the captain, Sara. Don't you have any trades arranged?"

"Mummy, we still have two thousand tons of molybdenum for Schlereth LG. It's not due for four months, but it's only three weeks away at standard. We can do it in four short hops 'cos there's a few systems in between."

"Alright. Raise docking control and get permission to undock."

* * *

Schlereth was a dirty system. Sometime in the distant past one of the dozen planets in the system had met with a disaster, and pieces of it were scattered in two wide asteroid belts bracketing the sixth and seventh of its siblings. According to the AID, Schlereth LG was a chilly world, nearly two and a half AUs out from the blue-white intensity of its parent star. It was habitable, barely, home to humans who had arrived in search of the invaluable heavy lanthanum-group ores that the Adeptus Mechanicus used extensively in building power systems. Orbital refineries smelted asteroids dragged in by belt-miners and on-planet factoriums used those smelts both as catalysts to extract rare elements from the planet's crust and as raw materials to produce high-density alloys.

The Mechanicus had a large presence here, with hundreds of thousands of tech-priests and -adepts supported by a constant stream of ships carrying foodstuffs, condemned human work-gangs and servitors. The population of free Imperial citizenry was only a few million, mostly hardy miners looking to make enough credit to allow a move to somewhere more hospitable, or unluckily assigned Administratum and Ecclesiarchy staff. One single Imperial navy frigate was augmented in system defence by two of the Mechanicum's own vessels; the tech-priests were likewise responsible for planetary defence.

_Phoenix_ came out of warp transition near system zenith, taking a smooth arc towards the unloading bay of refinery twelve. The order for molybdenum paid only a few hundred thousand credits; barely enough to cover their supplies if they had been normally crewed. As it was, with just the three of them plus the few servitors they'd picked up over the past year or two, the profit was sufficient to make the trip worthwhile.

Janey and Sara chatted back and forth with the system flight controllers, truing up their course and docking pattern.

"Mummy, there are more ships here than records would show as normal."

Sara looked at the screens. "Those are Navy vessels. And a lot of trade ships."

"Incoming signal, mummy. Not from system control." Janey switched channel, putting the call on the bridge speaker. "Trader vessel _Eyes of the Phoenix_, comm officer."

A slight crackle, and a uniformed woman appeared on the screens. "This is commander Denliot of the Emperor's 3712th Naval Patrol Squadron. By order of the Imperial Administratum you are ordered to join a guarded convoy to the Nalen planetary system which is facing attack by xenos. Civilian population will be evacuated on arrival."

Sara glanced to the big marine on her right and raised an eyebrow. She spoke into her headset pick-up. "Captain Sara Tarken, Rogue Trader licence 147-3863-ΨΓ, commanding _Eyes of the Phoenix_. Orders received and understood. Are we to offload cargo?"

The woman paused briefly. "How big a cargo?"

"Two thousand tons of molybdenum, commander, some of it in pressurised holds. If we unload it will increase our refugee capacity by about five hundred. Standard unlading estimate is three hours."

"Three hours is satisfactory, captain. We will need your capacity for passengers, supply needs for refugees, and any self-defence capability you have also."

"Confirmed, commander." She glanced at her daughter who nodded, already pulling up the files. Not the true files of course; but sufficient to indicate a converted warship with higher than average weapons and thus allay suspicion. "Sending standard specifications now."

"Thankyou for your co-operation, captain. You will be informed of your position with the convoy within the hour."

"Affirmative. Do we have permission to load the additional supplies of foodstuffs, water and medicine at dock?"

The woman might have smiled; it was hard to tell with the slanted scar across her face. "Permission granted, captain. Shuttles are being arranged for refugee necessities; you will be assigned additional supply shipments according to your stated capacity."

"Thankyou, commander. _Eyes of the Phoenix_ proceeding to dock at refinery twelve for unloading. His Light on you, sir."

"And His Grace be with you, captain. Naval control out."

* * *

Lieutenant DT Raglan had been in the Imperial Navy all his adult life. Now thirty-seven, he was old for his rank, he knew, but since he'd started as a drafted ordinary crewman, assigned to scrubber maintenance in a las-gun battery when he was just fifteen, he was content in his service to the Emperor of Mankind. In the past twenty-two years he'd seen action several times on many ship types. He'd even had the honour to be part of an action with the legendary Silver Skulls space marines, whose strike cruiser _Face of Death_ had joined his assigned squadron in a battle against orks four years before.

Now, as the flag lieutenant to a squadron rear-admiral, he held a post that suited his phlegmatic disposition and eye for detail. He nodded to the communications ensign as she placed the latest series of specifications on his desk. Hopefully this ship would have sufficient capacity to carry more than a few hundred refugees. One of the major problems with assembling a convoy from miner ships was the lack of pressurised holds; the ships were built to carry lumps of rock, not people. The Mechanicus vessels they had been able to requisition were in many cases not much better, being packed with arcane machinery. He reached for the file and opened it.

* * *

Jedoan Gaantt was a career naval officer, from a long line of career naval officers. His family had served the Imperium as far back as records went, and many had died gloriously for their Emperor. The rear-admiral knew he was not the finest tactician of that long ancestry, and nor was he the most brilliant and charismatic leader. Yet Gaantt had managed by dint of sheer hard work to make flag rank and command his own squadron. His little flagship, the _Endeavour_ class light cruiser _Piety_, was the centrepiece of seven escorts – four reliable _Sword_-class frigates and three _Cobra_-class destroyers. From _Piety_ he had patrolled this quiet sub-sub-sector of the Segmentum Obscurus for the past three years, with little incident barring a brief raid by renegades in a now-destroyed converted frigate fourteen months previously.

Now, however, he was faced with a true test. The foul xenos known as tyranids had long been a threat to the Imperium, and a small force of the monsters had been detected approaching the Eskalion sub-sector. Eskalion was not highly populated, but Nalen was an important agricultural world, producing vast quantities of grain and other foodstuffs that were shipped to several more industrialised and populous planets across the sub-sector. It was also famed for the quality of its artisans, producing from its local flora both expensive fabrics which were highly prized by Imperial aristocrats, and hard-wearing ones prized almost as much by the Imperial Guard. Already a powerful naval squadron, including the great _Overlord_-class battlecruiser _Augury of Wrath_, had been despatched to engage the menace, but initial action had been less successful than expected.

The Administratum, reasoning that the local militias would fight much harder if they knew their spouses and children were already safe, and wishing to ensure a continuation of fabric-making expertise within the sub-sector, had ordered the evacuation of Nalen's civilian population. That was his job, and he had so far assembled a convoy of forty-seven trader vessels which combined had a capacity of eight hundred and ninety-three thousand refugees. This latest trader would hopefully bring that total up above nine hundred thousand, and with supply expected to complete in less than four hours Gaantt was busy with final checks of his little squadron. He had no intention of letting any of his helpless merchant ships be destroyed by any foul xenos, despite his lack of resources.

His comms light flashed and he flicked the switch. "Yes, Raglan?"

"Sir, are you available for private conference? There's something I think you need to see."

The admiral blinked. His flag lieutenant was pretty much unflappable, and he considered the man a valuable asset. "Yes, lieutenant. You can come through."

"Thankyou, sir."

He cut the channel, wondering what the man wanted. The door chimed.

"Come." He pressed the stud to open and his aide came in, looking impassive.

Waving the man to a chair he nodded. "What's up, flags?"

A brief smile. "That latest ship, sir. She's a converted warship."

Gaanntt remained unimpressed. "Not unheard of. What class?"

"A _Raptor_-class strike destroyer. Obsolete type, but in almost all ways the equivalent of an astartes strike cruiser. In fact, the class was a predecessor of the current STD strike cruiser. She's about two-thirds the mass of _Piety_, but physically larger, with much bigger engines and fire-power. According to the specs they sent us, she would normally carry a full company of space marines." He paused, the continued. "This one, _Eyes of the Phoenix_, has most of her records under astartes-coded lockout. I can only assume that she is an agent or vassal to a space marine chapter."

Gaantt's eyes widened but otherwise he remained impassive; he prided himself on his self-control. "Astartes? Have you discussed this with anyone else?"

Raglan almost looked affronted. "No, sir. I thought it best to bring it to your attention first."

Gaantt smiled slightly. "Good. Anything on the ship's captain?"

He nodded. "Sara Tarken, planetary origin unknown – not unusual for rogue traders, of course. License to trade, and ownership of that ship, confirmed by Lord Calgar of the Ultramarines seven years ago. Known to have taken part in a naval action against renegade forces in the Plett system five years ago. Naval records also indicate a commendation for discovery of a space hulk, subsequently destroyed by the astartes Blood Angels. The only pict-image we have of her shows her wearing an astartes purity seal – Black Templars. No record of what she did to earn it, but they don't exactly send them up with the rations, so it must have been something insanely brave. Other than that, her records show a highly successful trader captain worth quite literally millions of credits. No real trade pattern although she tends to stick to ores and refined metals as cargo, often in large quantities."

The admiral steepled his fingers thoughtfully. "Unsurprising, given the size of ship. Its holds must be able to carry hundreds of thousands of tons if she's removed the main batteries."

"Yes, sir. Except that, well, it appears she has not done that. Based on Imperial Navy records of the Plett action, and those she sent us just now, that ship is only part-converted. Reading between the lines, she's close to a fully functional frigate with armament to match. That's a fair drop-off from standard, of course. By spec, the main lances could almost match a _Lunar_-class heavy cruiser, and the full broadsides would be heavier than our own by a quarter, easily. Still, for a trader she seems to have significant fire-power."

"Indeed? I think we need to talk to this Captain Tarken, flags."

"Yes, sir. If we're very lucky, they may even have some space marines aboard."

Gaantt looked at him with a cynical expression. In his experience, that sort of luck didn't come along even when you needed it. Still. "I rather doubt we could be so fortunate, flags, but get me contact. Another warship certainly won't go amiss, even if all she's good for is escorting some of the refugee convoy while we engage the xenos."

* * *

The voice was masculine and deep through the audio pick-up. "Captain Tarken is overseeing the unloading, lieutenant. Is there a problem?"

"Not at all," answered Raglan. "Admiral Gaantt merely wished to discuss possible deployment with your captain. Can you put us through?"

"Of course."

There was a soft click, then a feminine voice. "Tarken here."

"Captain Tarken, this is flag lieutenant Raglan. Please hold for a priority private call from rear-admiral Gaantt."

The woman's voice was soft and precise. "Affirmative. Locking down transponders." A pause. "Go ahead, admiral. We're private; this call is cypher-locked."

Gaantt raised an eyebrow. "Captain Tarken, rear-admiral Gaantt, Imperial Navy. I command the squadron here. Captain, I shall be frank; the situation is far too critical for obfuscation. Are you an agent of the Emperor's astartes?"

There was a long silence. Then. "No. While I do hold certain authorisations from the astartes Blood Angels, which I regret must remain confidential at this time, I am not an agent for any astartes chapter. Unfortunately, admiral, if you are asking me to call for help, that is beyond my authority."

Gaantt nodded slowly, meeting his flag lieutenant's eyes with a tiny shrug. So much for that idea.

"Captain, I need to know; it is likely your ship will be in a combat situation. How accurate are those specifications you sent us? Confidentially. My word that it will not go on record."

Another long pause. "Admiral, I suggest we should meet. My tactical officer and myself can be at your disposal within half an hour. Less, if you can come to us."

Intriguing, he thought. "I am afraid I cannot leave my flagship at this time, captain. But if you can shuttle across, I can see you in forty minutes."

"That will be fine, admiral. I'm sending our shuttle id now."

Raglan nodded.

"Confirmed, captain," said Gaantt. "I shall see you shortly. I would appreciate it you could bring those authorisations."

"Affirmative. Emperor's grace, admiral. Tarken out."

The connection cut out.

* * *

Raglan waited on the hangar deck as the shuttle came in. Like its parent vessel, the little craft was almost unadorned, just a single golden wing emblazoned on the left of the nose. Precisely and without fuss, the pilot, invisible behind darkened armour-plex, landed exactly on his mark. As servitors and a pair of naval crewmen bustled around with the docking clamps, the side panel opened and a ramp extended with a slight hiss of pneumatics.

He stepped forward, leaving his escorting pair of naval troopers as he did so, to meet... he stopped as a huge armoured figure stepped down the ramp. He was not the only person to stop; all across the bay personnel were turning to stare in awe at the space marine.

Raglan blinked and moved forward. The man, resplendent in a rich gold-edged purple with a golden aquila on his chest and the same winged talon device as the shuttle on his shoulder-plate, turned his head slightly.

"Flag-lieutenant Raglan?" There was no question who was in charge; Raglan had to admit himself intimidated despite the placid tone. Inwardly, he also admitted a sense of relief. He didn't know which Chapter the space marine was from, but the very presence of an astartes on his ship would stiffen sinews and spines. He knew the grapevine would be passing the gossip before he'd even left the dock, but that news could only help morale.

He smiled slightly at the thought and saluted. "At your service, astartes."

He almost missed the black-clad woman walking down behind the armoured giant, who nodded politely and gestured an introduction with an open gauntleted hand.

"Brother-sergeant Sedreth, lieutenant. This is captain Sara Tarken."

The woman gave a brief nod; her fractional smile did nothing to soften a cold near-beauty that was strangely enhanced by the faint scar on her left cheekbone. "Pleased to meet you, lieutenant."

Raglan noticed she did indeed wear a Black Templars purity seal on her jacket's left breast. A single broad gold ring encircled her cuff, otherwise she was a dark contrast to the almost gaudy richness of her companion's war-plate. Both of them, Raglan noted, were seriously armed; Tarken bore a sword with a golden hilt and what was clearly an astartes-issue bolt pistol. The marine, well, he probably didn't need either the long powersword at his hip or the massive bolter clipped to his thigh anyway.

Collecting himself, Raglan returned the woman's nod. "The admiral will be pleased to meet you both. If you would follow me?"

Two nods. The space marine tapped something on his left wrist and the shuttle ramp pulled back on itself, the side access closing behind it. He walked slightly behind as Raglan led Sara Tarken towards the access-tube, the two troopers falling in behind looking slightly bemused.

* * *

Gaantt watched on his monitor. A space marine. He smiled quietly, not wanting any of his other aides to see him as other than unflappable.

The sense of relief was palpable amongst the other officers present. His flag captain, Erken Bramwig, had a smile on his face which he quickly removed on meeting his commander's eyes. Bramwig was a good solid officer, and a respected ship captain, but Gaantt often considered him to have a disturbingly optimistic outlook. It didn't mean the man took foolish chances – Bramwig was highly competent when it came to tactical risk assessment and combat judgement – merely that he tended to see the best in most situations. Perhaps surprisingly, he and his admiral meshed well together.

Gaantt looked round the table and addressed the naval troop commander, Colonel Avers of the 7491st Imperial Guard (Naval) Regiment. They had intended to offer Tarken, like all the other convoy vessels, the option of troop presence to assist them with refugees. "I hope your men are at their best, colonel."

Avers smiled faintly. "It appears my men may not be needed, sir."

"Let us hope so. We do not have any superfluity of guardsmen," said Commander Denliot, _Piety_'s tactical officer, who was in charge of ensuring the convoy was properly organised and outfitted. Denliot was another veteran officer who had neither connections nor influence and was therefore at least a pay-grade beneath her extensive competence. Both Gaantt and Bramwig valued the scar-marred greying brunette immensely.

"Indeed," said Gaantt.

The door chimed.

* * *

Damn, the man was huge. Impossibly handsome, with sculpted features and short-cropped pale blond hair, the astartes dominated the room even sitting down. The chair barely held him, and Gaantt suspected the marine was using his armour to support the majority of his weight. Despite his best efforts it was hard not to be distracted.

Raglan looked up from his highest-security station. "Clearances confirmed, sir."

Gaantt nodded. "Very well. Captain Tarken, perhaps you should explain your presence in this system at this particular time and your ship's capabilities."

She nodded once, accepting the coded spool from Raglan and securing it in an internal pocket. "Admiral, our presence here is coincidental, I assure you. Not that we would have avoided the system had we known of your need, but we did not until we arrived. As to capabilities, I am sorry to dash your hopes, but brother-sergeant Sedreth is the only astartes on my ship. A liaison presence, nothing more. Much as I would have liked to able to bring you a company of space marines, I regret that I do not. My ship is capable of fighting a short space combat against most opponents; our shielding is sufficient to allow us to survive long enough to evade when we are outmatched, and our acceleration remains at full original specification, 6.7_g_ at standard. When we were recently refitted, the main lances were also retained at full specification. I would expect to destroy any hostile ship smaller than a light cruiser. _Eyes of the Phoenix_ also has classified automotive equipment aboard, based on, I believe, pre-Imperial technologies. This has proved reliable in combat and otherwise, but means that we have a much smaller crew than would be expected. Accordingly, I would appreciate any offer of assistance with personnel," she looked directly at Avers, "from the Imperial Guard to ensure any refugees are properly looked after. I have the capacity to house several thousand; I do not have the staff to take care of them, nor to ensure they do not do something stupid in panic should we be obliged to enter combat. In the past I have never carried more than a few dozen passengers."

"I see," said Gaantt thoughtfully. "Colonel Avers?"

"I can offer similar arrangements, sir. No more than a short company of troopers – about fifty men. I don't have the personnel for more."

She nodded. "That would be satisfactory, colonel. I have the facility to seal off control decks, gun batteries, and main engineering if I really have to. It plays havoc with life support in those sections if sustained for too long, so I'd prefer not to have to."

Denliot spoke quietly. "How are you off for munitions, captain? Do you need ammunition resupply?"

A shake of the head. "My stocks are at 87%, commander. Although I would like the facility to replace expenditure if it becomes necessary. My budget is not unlimited."

Gaantt nodded. "Acceptable. Commander Denliot can arrange the authorisations. Captain, I confess I am highly tempted to simply commandeer your vessel. Were it not for your astartes authorities, I would already have done so."

She nodded with a brief smile. "I understand. Would it be helpful if I accepted some Naval bridge crew? My people are experienced and highly competent, but are not actually trained for combat as yours are. Brother-sergeant Sedreth excepted, of course."

The astartes flickered what might have been a smile. "I have no objection. It is a minor matter to lock out mission logs and other classified systems."

Gaantt thought for a few moments. Yes, that would work. With his own people aboard, he would have an extra combat vessel, at least until it came to loading refugees. "That would be an excellent compromise, captain. Captain Bramwig, can you tell off a dozen suitable personnel?"

Bramwig nodded.

Avers tapped his stylus. "My Guardsmen will be able to board in forty minutes, captain Tarken. I suggest that captain Bramwig's personnel board at the same time?"

A series of nods round the table. "That would be fine, colonel. I shall ensure quarters are arranged. Fifty men, plus a dozen from captain Bramwig, then?"

Avers paused, then, "Fifty troops in squads of ten, plus two officers, company NCO, and company support staff – medical, galley, tech – oh, and a junior commissar, captain. Sixty in all."

"I'll send you two each for comms, scan, weapons, navigation, tactical scan, plus officers. Twelve in total, captain." added Bramwig.

She tapped her stylus and nodded.

"Admiral, there is one other matter which must not leave this room, and which I would prefer not to discuss with any other than yourself. No offence to your staff, but this is well beyond their security clearances."

Intrigued, Gaantt nodded. "Captain Bramwig, if you and the other officers would give us a few moments?"

Bramwig nodded and stood, the others following him obediently outside. Gaantt tapped the control that locked the door and activated the privacy screens. He watched with interest as the big marine placed a small device on the table. Lights flickered on the little dome-like thing and the man nodded in satisfaction. Tarken sat back and allowed the marine to take over.

"Admiral," he said quietly, "one of the things our fitted tech allows for is automated warp travel; something we are, naturally, assessing for the adeptus astartes. I'm sure you can understand the potential strategic and tactical advantages such a system could provide – if it works. While, thanks to the tech-systems aboard, we have experienced no difficulty in short-hopping the warp, long trips can be, ah, problematic. Would it therefore be possible to arrange an additional Navigator? Perhaps a trainee if you have one?"

Gaantt leant back in his chair thoughtfully. Whatever the astartes might have been about to say, he had never even considered this. Damnation. This was clearly an astartes directive; he knew that many space marine chapters objected strenuously to psykers, and barely tolerated even those who were absolutely necessary – such as Navigators. It was equally obvious that he could not allow this vital experiment to be placed at risk if he could avoid it.

"Brother-sergeant, might I suggest instead a senior Navigator? My own flagship has a highly experienced senior Navigator, and several juniors of sufficient experience both to navigate the warp themselves, and to lock on to his signal should warp transit have a problem. If Navigator Edsel were to take over, temporarily, aboard your own vessel, would that not be a better arrangement?" It would also remove a source of discord, as Edsel was from a different House than Navigator Baugh who he was supposed to be replacing.

The man looked at his black-clad shadow and their gazes met briefly.

She smiled. "Admiral, that is an excellent solution. Will the Navigator require additional quarters for support staff?"

Gaantt thought for a few moments. Edsel would expect certain facilities, and at least some of his own personal staff would have to transfer as well. "Yes, separate quarters, of course, for about twenty I should think."

"Not a problem. Many thanks, admiral."

She glanced back to the marine, who rumbled, "We have taken enough of your valuable time, admiral. You and your people appear highly competent. I look forward to seeing your skills in action. His Light on you." He stood, and both Gaantt and Tarken did the same. The marine retrieved his device and secreted it in his utility belt.

"A pleasure, admiral. Sedreth and I should return to our ship."

Gaantt nodded. "I shall personally see to the last matter we discussed." He led them to the door and smiled at Raglan standing rigid against the opposite wall. Clearly the flag-lieutenant had taken it on himself to ensure that no-one had the opportunity to overhear the last discussion.

Gaantt returned the astartes' salute. "Honoured by your presence, brother-sergeant. Captain Tarken. You have been most helpful. Lieutenant Raglan will escort you back to your shuttle. Emperor's Grace."

"And his on you, admiral," she replied.

Gaantt watched briefly as they walked with Raglan along the corridor and out of sight, then headed for his own office. Edsel might take some persuading, after all.


	30. Chapter Twenty-eight

**Chapter Twenty-eight**

Janey watched the small shuttle as it came into dock. She was waiting at the top of the bow ramp for the Navigator. A Navigator! She'd heard of them of course, powerful psykers who could guide a ship through the warp using the Emperor's Astronomicon as a beacon, but she'd never met one. The Blood Angels either had been guided by a brother-Librarian, or had used one of their own Navigators while she and her mother had been confined to quarters. Janey suspected the latter, though she'd not been allowed on the bridge to find out. Still, it was important to make a good impression, so she was in uniform, or close to it; a similar jacket and trousers to her mother's dress outfit, with her combat blade on her forearm and a standard issue bolt pistol on her hip, and a formal Emperor's Children over-robe, which she doubted anyone would recognise.

* * *

The INS shuttle settled quietly onto the landing platform at the rogue trader's docking berth. Senior Navigator Mijal Edsel straightened his formal robes and unbelted himself. His chosen aides, Flionn Tehmet and Jiord Efril from the Administratum, and junior navigator under instruction Astrid Lyognet stood and followed the two naval orderlies to the wide and empty metal deck. Edsel walked slowly – he never liked to hurry – towards the long metal ramp. Only one slight figure, black-clad and visibly armed under a richly decorated over-robe, stood in wait; a girl-child, perhaps fourteen, bareheaded to show shoulder-length hair of a dark enough colour to verge on black.

Edsel wasn't certain whether to be insulted by the paucity of the greeting, or relieved. His position as a senior Navigator – indeed the senior Navigator of an Imperial Navy squadron – would normally mean a formal greeting party headed by the ship's most senior officers. Such formalities tended to be wearing, and Edsel had never been one to stand on ceremony, but still. He waited until the shuttle crew had taken formal guard positions before gesturing his aides to precede him down the ramp.

Janey stepped forward, towards the tall robed man with the golden cloth across his forehead. She wasn't sure what all the symbols on his heavy dark green robes meant, but since that was likely the case in reverse it made no difference. He did wear the symbols of the Navis Nobilite, and the given that he was one clearly the senior of the two people with forehead coverings, he had to be Edsel. One of the (obvious) aides attempted to intercept her and she stopped with a cold stare, then continued at a gesture from the Navigator. She gave him a small formal bow, which was returned with the briefest of nods.

"Senior Navigator Edsel? I'm Jane Tarken. My mother regrets that she can't leave the bridge in the middle of unloading, and has asked me to see you and your staff to suitable accommodations." She paused, then went on with the obvious question. "We were expecting twenty, Navigator."

The man glanced at one of his aides, who spoke quickly. "Lord Edsel decided otherwise. His abilities are quite sufficient."

Janey met the cool formality with a polite smile. "Of course." She tapped her dataslate to order a servitor and transport trolley over.

"If you would care to follow me, we have opened the Navigator quarters at the bow for you. I have a personnel transport trolley waiting as it is still a fair walk." She gave a second polite smile and led the small group up the gangway to the bow doors. Behind her the Navigator made an impatient gesture to his robed aides to follow before they reluctantly started to move.

* * *

It was, thought Edsel, an interesting experience. The ship's processional – which had to be what they were traversing – was broad, gleaming, and empty. No crew shared the wide passageway; not even another servitor. He sat with his aides on the small transporter as it trundled along; the girl walking easily alongside. Reaching out with his senses he searched for other presences. Barring his present company, there were only two that he could detect, which made him less than happy. After several minutes of futility, he spoke.

"Sera, where are the rest of your crew?"

She smiled slightly. "We have a very small crew, Navigator. As I believe you were informed, this ship is home to some unusual technology which automates most functions. The control systems on the main bridge allow us to handle the ship and to interact with _Phoenix_'s machine spirit where necessary."

"Indeed?" Edsel paused for a few moments, trying again to reach out with his mind. He got an impression of some vast presence which had to be the aforementioned machine spirit. Edsel was reluctantly impressed; it was very rare to be able to sense a starship's machine spirit without the Navigator interface. He looked forward to interacting with such an entity.

The girl seemed unfazed. She merely answered, "Indeed, Navigator. Perhaps you will take the time to let us show you round once we are finished with this assignment."

Edsel gave a polite nod. "I shall look forward to it. Tell, me, what is the meaning of the symbols between the Emperor's aquila?"

"This was originally a space marine vessel, Navigator. That is the codex symbol of the ship's original owners."

"Ah. She is salvage then? I am surprised that the original chapter did not take her back."

"Yes. Lord Calgar confirmed my mother's title to her a few years ago."

Edsel blinked. "Lord Marneus Calgar? Of the Ultramarines?" She nodded. "I see." He did not, but he wasn't going to say so. "And you have been travelling the warp without a Navigator?"

Another nod. "For around seven years now. We've found that there is a limit of around four days in warp for safe transit. It was higher, but a few years ago we made a high-speed warp transit which," she hesitated for a few moments, "drew some unwanted attention."

Edsel felt himself blanche; a Senior Navigator for fifty years, he knew all too well what 'unwanted attention' could mean in the warp.

"You take considerable risks." He managed to keep his voice calm and level.

She appeared unconcerned. "_Phoenix_ keeps us safe; the Geller fields are strong." A brief chuckle, remarkably adult for such youth. "And brother-sergeant Sedreth is pretty good in a fight."

Edsel said nothing as they entered a large personnel lift, the servitor following with the baggage-laden trolley. The young Tarken pressed a recessed button and they rose rapidly, the doors opening on to a short corridor with numerous entrances on each side. Several of the doorways had markings of aquilas above them, together with faded spaces which had clearly once been the sites for Navis Nobilite coats of arms.

"These were the original Navigator quarters; they've been unused for centuries, at least, as far as we know. Sedreth and I went through them a couple of years ago when we were exploring this area of the ship and cleared out what little we found. Since then they've been kept clean by servitors, and only visited on inspections. I hope you'll find them satisfactory."

Edsel glanced at her, seeking untruths. She was not lying as far as he could tell – and his 'cept was usually good enough to tell. He nodded briefly. "I am sure they shall suffice." He gestured to his aides who split off to check each door.

After a few quick checks, Lyognet looked back. "Here, lord. The main Navigation chamber and interface."

Edsel walked swiftly through the gold-edged doorway into a well-appointed but functional chamber with several monitoring stations. A Chair, gilded with very old and very traditional symbols of the Navis Nobilite, sat alone in its own, clearly sealable, separate room. He nodded approvingly. An old-model set-up, but perfectly satisfactory.

"This will be acceptable, sera Tarken."

She smiled briefly. "Then I shall leave you and your people to settle yourselves. If you need anything, the intercom will contact the bridge directly."

She gave a short bow and withdrew, leaving the servitor and baggage transport as she walked swiftly towards the stern. Edsel glanced at his staff, indicating that they should take up the offered quarters, and moved to inspect the interface more closely.

* * *

Janey walked onto the bridge where her mother was running nav calculations. "Mummy, Navigator Edsel and his staff are getting settled in."

Sara turned in her chair. "Good. Thanks, Janey. The naval crew and marines are due in about twenty minutes. Morgan is supervising some of the servitors in unloading supplies. Can you go down to the main hangar and help? I'd like to ensure we're ready to go without any issues. Once we have everything aboard, we can organise it en route; we'll be a few days in warp, at least."

She nodded. "Okay. What are we doing about meals? Are the navy people going to be eating with us?"

Sara frowned in thought. "I'm not certain of naval protocols, so for the moment assume not. The soldiers can set up their own commissary on deck five, where they're billeted."

Janey smiled an acknowledgement. She liked the comfortable mealtimes they'd grown into, just the three of them. "I better go down, then." She grinned and left.

Sara watched the empty doorway for a few moments, wondering sadly when her little girl had grown up, then sighed and turned back to her screens.

* * *

The Navy shuttles landed in sequenced precision, ten of them, and disgorged uniformed men and women in a flood of grey-green, followed almost immediately by a dozen in dark blue. She walked over, leaving Mr Morgan to control the two dozen servitors still stacking supply boxes and containers as they'd agreed. A test, of sorts.

One of the blue uniformed women bore rank badges she recognised as a Lieutenant, with the additional thinner ring that indicated more than five years' service at that rank. Janey smiled a greeting and offered her hand.

"Lieutenant Loville? I'm Jane Tarken, captain Tarken's daughter. Welcome aboard. My mother asked me to show you and your people to your quarters."

The dark-skinned woman blinked slightly, then accepted the handshake. She had a firm grip though lacking in strength compared to mummy or, of course, Mr Morgan. Her voice was pleasant and light, but the tone certain. To her credit, she ignored the massive armoured figure across the hangar. "Thankyou, sera. We will try not to interfere too much with your crew operations. The captain said something about non-standard boards?"

Janey nodded. "_Phoenix_ is rather more automated than most vessels. If you can get yourselves billeted as quickly as possible, we can give you a tour of the bridge and control stations so that you can get up to speed before we leave the system."

Loville nodded thoughtfully. "Yes. We're light; just uniforms, side-arms and a reader each for off-duty. My orders were that we would share the troop commissary?"

"That should be fine," Janey replied leading the little group to the main lifts. "We've put you on deck ten of the command tower so that you're closer to the bridge. The troops will be on deck six amidships. My mother said they're to have the half-deck if they need it; that includes a galley, quarters for up to four hundred, a combat and firing range we don't use, an empty armoury and a chapel on deck seven. Once you're settled and organised to your satisfaction, we'll be ready to go."

She pressed the button and they followed her through the gleaming doors.

Back in the hangar, Troop Major Harvey looked questioningly at his companion. Apart from the armoured space marine busily engaged with several servitors, the only non-naval entity in the great hangar was a small shuttle with a golden winged talon on its nose.

The black-clad man returned the enquiring gaze with a cold expression, and his knuckles tightened on the book he gripped. Commissar Peiper said nothing, but his lips had thinned in anger. He was a man unused to being ignored, and, despite his relative youth, was famed both for his ruthlessness and his courage under fire. He was not however famed for his stupidity, so he merely said, "Unload your equipment, Major. I am certain that we will be shown to a billet shortly."

Harvey saluted and moved to instruct his men. Several orderly piles started to grow close to the now locked-down transports.

Sedreth watched the troopers as they unloaded their gear. Efficient, at least. It was to be hoped they would be equally well-trained in combat, but since they were Navy rather than Guard, he did not expect them to have seen much action. He glanced at his readouts. That would do. Turning, he walked easily across the deck to the black-coated Commissar and his officer companion.

"Commissar, Major. Welcome aboard. I am brother-sergeant Sedreth. You and your men have been assigned quarters on deck six amidships. If you will follow me I will show where the facilities are."

Not perhaps as polite as he would normally be, but Commissars tended to annoy him. He swung away, walking swiftly towards the lifts. Behind him the troop major gave orders before following.

Both Commissar and Major joined him as the doors opened, accompanied by a slender dark-skinned woman in her thirties with the flashes of a sergeant. No-one spoke as they rose to the middle decks. He led the three out and past the port side gun-decks, then down a cross corridor to the old support troop quarters, where regular infantry support regiments had been billeted on the few occasions they had been carried during the Crusade. They had used these over the past couple of years for the few refugee passengers they had taken on board, and had outfitted them with very basic furniture and bedding for the purpose. Probably better, truth be told, than most military barracks; the Imperium did not spend a fortune on its cannon fodder.

"I trust these will be suitable for your troopers, Major?" he said, as they walked through the area.

The man, Harvey his name was, nodded. "Quite satisfactory, and better than I expected. The drill areas are more than adequate for the men I have with me."

"Indeed. But what of their religious needs, astartes?" put in the Commissar. "I have seen no chapel thus far."

Sedreth simply glanced at the irritating man. "There is no chapel on this deck, Commissar. However there is one on deck seven which we have set aside for your requirements and those of the INS personnel aboard."

"And your own crew?" The tone was polite, if the question was suspicious.

"Captain Tarken and her crew, and I, use the astartes remembrance chapel on the main processional, Commissar."

The man looked intrigued. "I see."

He clearly didn't see, but no point in continuing the conversation. Sedreth nodded briefly instead, and continued to address Harvey. "Once you and your men are settled, Major, I will require mess details; you will be messing with the INS personnel only as the Navigator and his people have their own facilities. I will also require any training schedules. Without wishing to cause offence, I will be much more comfortable once I have watched your people at work. I will, of course, make myself available for any assistance you may require in that respect."

The man blinked once in surprise then nodded. "We will be most honoured."

"Excellent. Then if you will excuse me, I do have other duties on the bridge. I will leave you and your men to quarter yourselves, and once we have left the system we can discuss exactly what arrangements we need to make for refugees. For anything else, if you contact the bridge I am sure that sera Tarken will be able to provide answers to your enquiries."

"You mean, captain Tarken?" asked the man.

"Her daughter Jane. Who is also the ship's tacscan and senior communications officer. You saw her earlier."

"The girl? She cannot be more than fourteen." Peiper's face was a picture.

Sedreth nodded. "Thirteen. But yes, her. She is intelligent and highly competent." He knew his smile was wintry and didn't care. "Until later, gentlemen, sergeant." He turned and walked swiftly towards the bridge lift, leaving them, somewhat bemused, to their own devices.

* * *

The chapel was plain, but functional. Peiper approved. The icons and sacred paintings were well cared-for, holy unguents sealed in blessed containers, everything in its place and a place for everything. Beside him, Harvey touched his blessed prayerbook to his lips, murmuring a swift prayer to the God-Emperor of Mankind, and rose slowly from his knees, head bowed in the approved position of humility. The Commissar nodded in acknowledgement of his companion's piety.

"This place is not well-used."

"The astartes said that he and the crew have a separate facility, Commissar."

Peiper inclined his head briefly. So they did. He would have to arrange an inspection of it. "Indeed he did. The space marines revere the God-Emperor as a father, or so I have been told. However that is irrelevant. You and your men will assemble for daily prayer here at 0500. I will lead the service, of course."

Harvey smiled slightly. "Of course. It would not do for us to be less than true to the Emperor before a space marine."

"I see you understand. How are the facilities?"

"The commissary is set up. Likewise the quarters we have been given include both a firing range and combat practice gymnasium. There is no room for complaint on that score."

"But?"

"Commissar, may I speak plainly?"

"You are a true son of the Emperor, Major. You need have no fear of plain speaking."

"I am disturbed. This vessel, it has almost no crew that I have seen. The naval crew assigned to the ship's bridge inform me that the ship is automated far beyond anything they have seen before. I am no tech-adept, just a simple soldier, but I confess to feeling uncomfortable. Such a warship should have a crew of ten thousand or more. Instead we have seen no more than three."

Peiper nodded slowly. He too felt it. "We are here by order of the admiral. Our orders are to see to the ordering of the several thousand refugees this ship will take on in the Nalen system. If captain Tarken and her crew fail to follow the admiral's orders in this regard, we shall be ready to take action. Until that time, whatever strangeness we encounter shall not shake our faith in the almighty Emperor."

* * *

Astrid Lyognet, third daughter to the second cousin once removed of Novator Abdin of House Sierin, and therefore a minor cog in a very minor (she refused to use the word Shrouded, still less Beggar) Navigator House, watched her senior at work. Lord Edsel (second son to the Heir of Magisterial House Eborac and therefore a Navigator of considerable personal influence and importance whose generosity in instruction she was barely fit to be grateful for) appeared quietly and unusually pleased with himself and she could not entirely understand why. Assuredly, the ship they were currently on, _Eyes of the Phoenix_, was an ancient one, with appropriately ancient interface technologies which were naturally of keen interest to an historian like Edsel, but in the eleven years she had been 'prenticed she had never seen him look quite so smug as he did at this moment. She watched closely, attentive to each nuance of Edsel's pallid long-fingered hands as he carefully readied the Navigator Chair to his own comfort.

A gentle chime came from the ship's intercom and Edsel glanced impatiently at her. Astrid took the two steps to the comm unit and spoke. "Navigator Throne." Only Navigators were permitted to call it a Chair. "Junior Lyognet speaking."

A deep baritone spoke. "Junior Navigator Lyognet, this is brother-sergeant Sedreth. Kindly inform Navigator Edsel that we have received a readiness status request from fleet command. I would appreciate confirmation if possible on time to warp ready."

She glanced across. Edsel had taken his place in the Chair and nodded almost, for him, affably. He had clearly heard every word. "I am interfacing with the ship's machine spirit now. Inform sergeant Sedreth that I will require a few minutes to acclimatise myself and the vessel to each other, and that we should be ready to go to warp in thirty minutes."

The marine's voice came across the comms before she could speak. "Acknowledged, Navigator. Thirty minutes. I shall so inform the admiral." The connection cut off.

Edsel raised a thick eyebrow. She inclined her head submissively, and hurried across to the support monitors, feeling as she did a soft thrum of power.

She averted her gaze as Edsel closed both his eyes and opened his Warp Eye; to face him, even though as a Navigator herself she was one of the few who could without dying instantly, would be construed as challenge by Navis Nobilite law.

"Ah," he sighed. After a few moments of silence he spoke again, his voice barely a whisper, as if he thought aloud. "So strong and fierce. I greet thee, ancient. It has been long indeed since you have known the touch of a Navigator. Yes. We shall Travel, you and I."


	31. Chapter Twenty-nine

**Chapter Twenty-nine**

One by one, the ships moved into position, six columns of vessels in three-dimensional parallel, with warships escorting front and rear. From the _Piety_, looking backwards at a head-on view, the formation appeared a perfect inverted parabola, with an escort at the bottom of each arm and _Piety_ herself the apex. Only when viewed from the side did the depth of the formation become truly apparent, like a series of arches.

It was a well-favoured formation for convoy use, allowing the trade-ships to use what little weaponry they had with minimal danger of hitting each other, and keeping the most vulnerable vessels in the middle of the group where they could be protected somewhat from incoming fire. The warships too held advantage in that their position allowed ease of manoeuvre to protect their charges regardless of which direction an attack might come from.

Rear-admiral Gaantt had arranged his escorting squadron carefully; two frigates each at van- and rearguard, his smaller escorts in a wedge leading the convoy, and his own flagship at the critical position of vanguard zenith. He had also placed the most powerful of his charges, the two adeptus ships, at the rear; they had the best weaponry and the lowest refugee capacity. Except, of course, for the massive strike destroyer, which clearly outgunned his own ship by a fair margin. _Eyes of the Phoenix_ had been placed centrally at zenith, where he could either use her as a pure transport, or have her cover the other trader ships. He only hoped it would be enough; the sitreps from Nalen were getting grimmer by the hour.

He leant over the rail and down to his flag captain. "Captain Bramwig, is every ship on station?"

A formal nod. "Yes, admiral. All ships are on station and report readiness for warp."

"Very well. Execute."

A snapped salute and Bramwig turned back to his bridge officers. The warp alert sounded as acceleration built – slowly, to allow for the traders.

Denliot's calm voice came over the main speakers. "All hands. Warp entry in ninety seconds. In the Emperor's name."

Gaantt smiled briefly and took his position in his command chair, looking down on the main bridge where Bramwig likewise was seating himself. The displays came live and the ship seemed to hold its breath, then the familiar skin-crawl of Geller fields intersecting the warp, and they were on their way.

* * *

Sara sat in the unfamiliar command throne wishing silently that she was back in the pilot's seat. Not that she could not take control of any station; she could. Simply, she was familiar with her HUD and having the control surfaces at her fingertips. She watched the Navy pilot, a Lieutenant Graaff, as he laid in course and took position in the convoy. Her job, and she had to bite down on her resentment.

Janey had refused point blank to give up her own station and was busily engaged monitoring the comms. She had shown her Navy equivalent, a grizzled warrant officer named Halet, the comms and scan systems, and informed him in no uncertain terms that she was in charge of them regardless of Navy protocols and that she would be on the main watch roster. The senior Navy officer, Lieutenant Loville, had to be fair raised no objection.

Said officer turned to her. "Ready for warp, ma'am."

Sara nodded and opened the channel to Navigator Edsel. "Warp on my mark, Navigator. Ninety seconds."

His voice came back, calm and unflappable, "Ninety seconds, captain. I have signal lock from the flagship."

The unfamiliar tenor of Tech-adept Gramsci, down in engineering where he was no doubt drooling over _Phoenix_'s complex systems, came over the link. "All systems nominal for warp, captain."

"Geller fields online."

"Geller fields online, captain."

She spoke into the main speakers. "All hands, warp in sixty seconds." Not waiting for confirmations, she switched back to Edsel. "Navigator, take us in on mark. Warp drives to you."

A few seconds' pause. "Warp drives online."

She watched the screens as ship after ship followed through the hole in reality, then, "Warp transit achieved. Signal is good. On course, by the Emperor's Grace."

That was a relief. So much more complex than their usual process. She stood.

"Lieutenant Loville, you have the bridge. Maintain station in the convoy; any problems, I have my command wand so contact me through that. Sedreth, if you will? We better see to our guests below. The Commissar is no doubt tearing his hair out in impatience."

The big man met her eyes, expressionlessly sardonic. "Of course, captain." He walked with her through the polished metal doors and towards the lift.

* * *

Sara bit down on her temper; they needed these troops. In her most reasonable voice she repeated herself for the umpteenth time. "No, commissar. You may not have access to brother-sergeant Sedreth's chapel. The traditions of an astartes chapter are a matter for that chapter alone, as has been long upheld by Imperial law and both Eccliesiarchical and Administrative practise. Unless you want to argue the case with brother-sergeant Sedreth and his battle-brothers, I suggest that you drop this foolishness and concentrate on your job." She let some bite into her tone on the last sentence.

"But captain, neither you nor your daughter have attended any service. My job is to look after the souls of those in my care, to strengthen the will of the God-Emperor's servants before – and during and after – battle."

"My daughter and myself follow the same regimen as brother-sergeant Sedreth. As I have explained already." She sighed and raised her eyes to the ceiling. There was short silence as she considered her options, then decided. Slamming her hands on the table, she stood and looked directly into his eyes. "Commissar, the matter is closed. If you have a problem once you are returned to normal duties, feel free to write a report. Until then, keep your mouth shut and stay out of my way. Interfere on my ship and I will kill you myself. Interfere with my daughter and I swear you will beg for death. Is that quite clear?" She leant forward, her eyes almost touching his face. "I said, is that quite clear?"

He nodded, for the moment intimidated.

"Good. Then I have other things to attend to. Walk in His light, Commissar." She didn't wait for an answer and stalked out.

Back in the conference chamber, Peiper leant back, a sour expression on his thin face. A deep bass interrupted his thoughts. "Commissar Peiper. If you attempt to interfere with the operations of this ship, know that you cannot run far enough or fast enough to escape the consequences. Captain Tarken has fought, and killed, astartes of the traitor legions. More than once. So has her daughter. And both of them are far less skilled and far more merciful than I am. Let the matter drop, Commissar. This ship and its crew serve the Emperor as willingly as you do. We are going to go into battle together. Have no doubt that Sara Tarken will have your back at need. Just remember to have hers."

The giant gave what might have been a wintry smile, turned, and walked out, somehow silent despite the massive war-plate.

"Commissar?" said Major Harvey, quietly.

Peiper shook his head. "Technically, both of them are correct. Moreover, we appear to have caused significant irritation to our hosts. Take no action. We will come out of warp in another six days, and into a combat situation. Only if Tarken fails to perform her duties will we take over command."

"Yes, Commissar." Harvey stood and walked to the door. After a few moments, Peiper followed him, leaving the chamber lights to dim on automatic.

* * *

"Admiral. Incoming signal from Nalen system command. Emergency priority, sir." The young comm officer's voice showed anxiety. Gaant merely nodded.

"Put it through."

A figure appeared on the holoscreen, a grey-haired man in the uniform of a vice-admiral. Sigismund v'Straaken.

"Admiral Gaantt. This is vice-admiral v'Straaken aboard _INS Augury of Wrath_. What is your ETA?"

"Admiral, we expect to arrive in Nalen system in forty-seven hours and forty minutes. Can you confirm the situation?"

"The system is under sustained attack by the accursed xenos. So far none have landed on Nalen C, but Nalen D has been partially taken by the scum. Orbital defence stations on both main worlds are engaged; two above D are out of action. We are holding, but just. Can you expedite your warp transit?"

Gaantt thought for a few seconds, then shook his head. "Negative, admiral. Not with this convoy. I cannot be certain the trade-ships would be able to maintain a higher transit speed, nor that they would retain formation. And I should retain escort positions as far as possible. I can despatch my forward warships, however. Three _Cobra-class_ destroyers. Would that be sufficient?"

The other admiral looked thoughtful. "It would help. Even a small addition of fire-power would enable us to force the xenos back a little, and give your convoy more manoeuvre."

"I shall despatch them immediately, sir. At max, they can be with you in approximately eighteen hours. I shall order their captains to liaise with your command."

"Eighteen hours. Good. Do that. Emperor look on you, Jedoan."

"And on you, old friend. Gaantt out."

He turned to Bramwig and started dictating orders.

* * *

She hated warp travel; the nightmares always woke her. This time it was only a minor terror, rough voices, screams and only a little blood. Kat woke quickly, and was able to wipe the sweat from her skin without shaking too much. She glanced at the chrono. On shift in three hours. Ah, well. Not much point in trying to go back to sleep. She stepped into her shower, grateful that the ship was both well-enough appointed and short-enough crewed to allow her the luxury of a bridge officer's cabin and facilities even though she technically didn't rank them. The privacy meant she didn't disturb anyone else. Well, not often.

The warm air was good against her skin and she stepped from dryer to small wardrobe, pulling out her uniform. Everyone on _Pleasance_ had a uniform, plain soft green with rank markings in silver, for officers, or bronze, for other crew. Captain Esiason had spent some time in the Navy before taking command of a family trade ship, and he had pushed for all the family conglomerate vessels to provide uniforms and such paraphernalia as went with them. He also insisted on wearing his own service medals. Understanding the captain's ego, Kat had never worn her own. She rather liked the man, had worked his ship for two years, and she had no desire to outshine him.

Tapping her wand to the cabin lock, she turned port-side and strolled into the mess for breakfast. A good filling meal would be the quickest way to settle herself down, she knew from experience, and _Pleasance_'s commissary was a considerable improvement on INS service fare. The captain might be proud of his Naval service, but he saw no reason to extend that pride to standard Naval rations. Something, she mused, for which the entire crew had good cause to be thankful.

She was on her second warming mug of Vril when other people started coming through the doors. Y'lis Trabant, the senior Nav officer whose station adjoined her own – scan and Nav tended to work together a great deal when insystem – took a casual seat opposite her and started his usual routine of buttering a bread roll.

"Scan."

"Nav. Good morning."

"And you. Up first again. Do you ever sleep?" His voice was pleasant light tenor, made more so by the gently teasing tone.

"Unlike you ancients, I go to bed when I'm tired. So I am properly rested on wakening." She sipped at her still hot drink, savouring the meaty taste.

"Obviously." Trabant didn't rise to the bait. He was after all, twenty years her senior, and had a certain dignity to uphold. He bit into his roll with his usual relish instead.

Kat smiled briefly. She smiled an acknowledgement to Seria's easy wave at the next table. The weapons tech and she got on well together, occasionally playing regicide when off-shift. The other woman had been aboard for eleven years, following a full term in Imperial service. She expected to retire on a decent pension in a decade or so, and had saved enough to buy a small farm back on Draal, an agri-world where _Pleasance_'s parent company had extensive holdings. Raising livestock. Kat had no such interest. All her ambitions in that direction had been burned out of her by the attack at Meyis and her subsequent sterility. Space was what she had left, so she would see the galaxy until the Emperor called her home.

Half an hour later she walked smartly to her bridge station. Marko was there, of course. Senior Lieutenant Oplew, as he was more formally titled. He nodded to her.

"All systems nominal. You want run your checks?"

She nodded, taking the dataslate from him. System checks took her three minutes; confirmation of scan readouts and shift report two more. She nodded affirmation.

"Senior Lieutenant Oplew, you are relieved."

He gave a brief grin at the formality. "I stand relieved, Lieutenant Verstark."

She took over his station, slipping her command wand into the slot in place of his. "Anything I should know?"

He shook his head. "Nada. Convoy appears on station, warp exit scheduled for sixteen twenty-three mainday, oh-four twenty-three tomorrow alterday."

Ten hours, more or less.

"Confirmed. Duplicate stations for exit?"

He nodded. That was standard procedure for unknown or hostile systems. "I'll relieve you in six hours."

She shook her head. "I won't rest much after relief anyway. Make it eight. That'll be more than plenty time to check my set-up. I can get something to eat and relax for an hour or so, and that's all I need. Six isn't enough for you to get a proper sleep period."

Marko paused for a second, then nodded. "Fair enough. 'Til later, Kat." He smiled briefly and strolled off the bridge. She watched his departing back for a second, then turned back to her duties, readying the shift change report for the captain when he came on.

* * *

"All hands, warp exit in fifty minutes. All hands to battle stations." The calm voice echoed along _Piety_'s corridors, rapidly drowned out by the thunder of hundreds of boots as off-shift personnel dragged themselves from commissaries and barracks cots towards their combat stations. On deck after deck, chaplains and commissars led short prayer services, warrant officers ran last-minute final, final, final checks, and officers checked off roll-calls. Munitions were loaded into mighty guns, tech-adepts and even the occasional tech-priest blessing each round one final time.

On the bridge, Captain Bramwig looked up at his admiral. Both wore formal dress, glittering with decorations to remind their men that their seniors had been there before, tasted victory, and expected to do so again.

"Warp exit in ten minutes. All convoy vessels have acknowledged." Commander Denliot's voice was clear and calm, as if this was just another day rather than imminent battle against a ruthless and implacable enemy.

Gaantt nodded to his flag-captain. "Execute when ready, captain Bramwig. We do the Emperor's work this day"

Bramwig saluted. "Yes, sir." He nodded to his pilots. "Open exit gate."

* * *

_Augury of Wrath_ was hard-pressed, under fire from two xenos vessels of cruiser size and displacement. The larger of the two, a _Devourer_-class, was sending powerful blasts of bio-acids against the battle-cruiser's void shields, while the smaller, classified as _Razorfiend_-class by the Imperium, closed to engage with kilometres-long tentacles and claws that skittered across the heavy armour-plate. Fortunately for the Imperial Navy, the _Overlord_-class had enormous fire-power and the combination of its gigantic lances and its many bow-torpedoes had all but crippled the Razorfiend long before it could close. Dozens of Imperial attack craft swarmed the combat, concentrating as much fire as possible on the single remaining attack tentacle that was partially wrapped along their flagship's starboard gun battery. Said gun battery was pouring fire into its organic nemesis at so close a range that the guns literally could not miss, and the ship-creature was taking such a brutal hammering that the stench of burned tyranid flesh was starting to permeate the very armour-plate. From every spare orifice Imperial troopers shoved carbines outwards to add to the destruction – and not coincidentally to prevent any xenos spores or creatures from gaining a foothold.

Admiral v'Straaken watched coldly from his command deck. Through the ten-metre-thick armour-glass he could see the enemy tearing at his flagship in a desperate attempt to penetrate the thick armour and get to the fragile crew inside. So far, that attempt had been futile, and the xenos were paying dearly for making it. Still, being all but attached to another ship made manoeuvre awkward, and _Augury of Wrath_'s massive lances were, for the moment, taken out of the equation. Given that he had already lost his second largest ship, the mighty _Dominator_-class heavy cruiser _Sword of Sanctity_, leaving him with only one other cruiser class vessel, the ageing _Cardinal_-classveteran _INS Pride of Aarestes_,this was not a loss he could thole for long.

"Captain Drake, order _Viper_ and _Blessed Venom_ to make a full lance strike at our starboard side. The armour can take it, and we must break free of this xenos thing."

Drake blinked in surprise, then nodded. "At once, admiral." She rapidly spoke into the vox and both of them watched the screens as the two _Cobra_-class, their sister already lost, moved to obey. Bright light flared against the void shields, but the monstrous arm was severed by the blast, falling away into the gravity well of Nalen D to burn up in the hapless world's atmosphere.

Even as he turned back to his flag-captain, the woman was rapping out orders, pulling them back and round to give full reign to the battlecruiser's fury. Fully charged and at less than five kilometres range, the massive energy blast ripped the enemy ship-creature into fragments.

V'Straaken gave a tiny smile. _Now, xenos scum, we shall see who holds the advantage._

"Sir, warp portal opening at system zenith. It's rear-admiral Gaantt and his convoy."

"Excellent. Order him to make for the main docks at Nalen C. Then get me contact with the rear-admiral."

* * *

"Admiral, contact from fleet command."

"Onscreen."

V'Straaken's care-worn face appeared with a slight smile. "Good to see you on time, Admiral. I regret to inform you that _Despite_ is lost with all hands. However both _Viper_ and _Blessed Venom_ are fighting well. You should have sufficient time to load full capacity at Nalen C docks. Utilise all three orbital docking stations and, if you have capable ships, the surface spaceport as well. Our augurs report that a reinforcing formation of xenos is en route and could be here within four hours. The planetary governor and his people have full schedules already worked out, so I shall leave you to organise the evacuation."

"Of course, admiral. Do you require my warships to assist your forces? Or do you want them to run protection for the traders?"

"Your squadron has only one cruiser-class, admiral, and you need _Piety_ to command your convoy. If you have targets of opportunity, take them, but unless you can magic up a cruiser from somewhere, no. Your smaller vessels are better used in convoy protection. The evacuation must take priority for now."

Gaantt nodded, then a thought struck him. "I may have one other ship, admiral. A converted but very old cruiser class, owned and run by a rogue trader. _Eyes of the Phoenix_, her name is. Do you want me to order her join your forces?"

V'Straaken blinked. "A civilian vessel?"

"Yes sir, but the ship carries, and appears to be under the agency of, the space marines, admiral. One space marine battle-brother is permanently stationed aboard. Its captain has fought xenos in space before, and has some of my people aboard to assist in combat."

The vice-admiral paused thoughtfully then shook his head. "No. A civilian vessel, even with a Navy command crew, is not a risk I will take at this time."

"Very well, admiral. I shall deploy the ship as part of my convoy."

"Acknowledged, admiral. Walk in His Light. _Augury of Wrath_ out."

* * *

"Mummy, signal from Admiral Gaantt."

"Onscreen." She met the man's eyes with a brief smile. "Rear-admiral Gaantt. Are you changing my orders?"

The man nodded briefly. "Yes, captain. Given the current circumstances, I need you to run as an additional escort while we evacuate from Nalen C. Once the majority of trader vessels are loaded, you can move in to pick up remaining refugees. With your permission I'd like to organise protocols with Lieutenant Loville.

Sara nodded shortly. They had expected something like this. She stepped aside to let Loville talk with the admiral, and gestured Graaff to take the back-up pilot station.

Across the bridge came affirmations.

"Lances fully charged."

"All void shields online."

"All batteries online."

"Tacscan online." Janey's voice.

"Screening position received, captain."

"Engines green. Course plotted. Moving to designated rendezvous. Point two seven light." She kept her own tone calm and relaxed, then glanced round at Loville, who nodded.

On the tactical displays little _Blessed Venom_ moved into a back-up escorting position. The destroyer would be the closest warship to them.

"Xenos target bearing delta four by two."

She smiled and said, "Engage."

Loville's voice came from behind her. "All weapons engaging, captain."

On _Augury of Wrath_ Fleet-Captain Trinda Drake watched with interest as the rogue trader moved efficiently – remarkably efficiently in fact – into position. She glanced at her readouts as the class spec came up at last, then raised an eyebrow in surprise. A flare of brilliant light came from the other ship's prow. Impressive fire-power for a trade ship. It appeared that Admiral Gaantt's squadron would not require reinforcement. Without the need to cover vulnerable traders, maybe they could concentrate enough fire to defeat these xenos after all.


	32. Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty

Admiral Gaantt watched as another of his convoy vessels went to warp. He would have preferred to load everyone, and move the ships as a unit, but it was clear that there was no time to organise it. His seven – eight, for the moment – ships had all they could handle running interference for each trader to enter warp with its precious cargo, and all of the smaller warships had taken significant, though not critical, damage. Only _Piety_ and _Eyes of the Phoenix_ had both sufficient shielding and weaponry to prevent major injury, and the latter's station close to system zenith had so far kept her out of any more than minor trouble and more usefully the Navy's – and vice-admiral V'Straaken's – hair.

As predicted, more xenos had arrived in the Nalen system, and it was all the Navy could do to prevent a landing in force on Nalen C. Nalen D was cut off already, despite their best efforts, and for the poor souls still on that world the only remaining choice was how hard they fought before they died. At least one settlement had chosen to overload its power plant, another brave handful of humans taking thousands of the foul creatures into oblivion with them.

He had spoken with the officer who had taken over the surface evacuation on Nalen C, a former Guard colonel named Siers, and she seemed to have things under control at the spaceport, thank the Emperor. A quick conversation with vice-admiral v'Straaken had confirmed her in acting command down there, with _pro tem_ reinstatement as a regular officer. One of the orbital stations had been hit by xenos pyro-acid weaponry, and more than eighty thousand people had died when it had fallen from orbit, burning up in atmosphere despite the last-ditch attempt by volunteer tech-priests from his convoy to teleport aboard and restart its power systems. They had also died to a man, unfortunately.

All in all, things were looking very grim indeed, and it was a matter of chance whether the called-for reinforcements would arrive in time to make a difference.

He looked over to Raglan, who was monitoring the communications channels. "How are our charges?"

"Nervous, sir, but holding pattern. Loading is proceeding ahead of schedule on both remaining orbital stations, and is only marginally behind on the surface."

"Behind?" Siers had struck him as more than competent.

"By ten minutes, sir. Reports from the surface indicate that there was a disturbance. Some Ecclesiarchical officials demanded priority boarding. Apparently they did not take kindly to being refused. The situation has been resolved."

"You're sure of that?"

"The leader of the churchmen was arrested and summarily shot, admiral," replied the flag-lieutenant with a faint smirk. "I am given to understand that the execution was sufficient to stop any protests."

Gaantt managed not to smirk in response. "Remind me to write up a commendation for miss, ah, Colonel Siers, Raglan. I rather suspect she will need the protection."

"Of course, sir." Raglan made a note on his data-slate.

Gaantt nodded. "Any further news of our expected reinforcements?"

"Negative, sir. Last I heard we were expecting no naval reinforcements for at least two weeks, although a general call for assistance has been placed to local astartes."

"Hmm. Any response?"

"Not so far, sir. There are two nearby astartes chapters, the Crimson Consuls and the Doom Eagles. Records indicate that both chapters are heavily engaged against other splinters of the xenos hive fleet. I doubt there will be any great likelihood of assistance being available."

The admiral glanced at the proffered readouts. "I see. Very well, stay on top of it." He cursed quietly to himself and turned back to his tactical displays.

V'Straaken watched coolly as the xenos manoeuvre developed. Hmm. Just as he'd expected. The foul things were attempting once again to force a landing in strength on Nalen C. He glanced to Drake and she nodded.

"Captain Lichfield. Execute planetary interdict bearing nu-three by two, priority immediate."

V'Straaken nodded to himself as the acknowledgement came back. It was risky, but he had to keep the things from the surface as long as he could. If the tyranid swarms got a solid hold all their efforts would be for nothing.

He watched the tactical screens nervously. The clash took half an hour to develop and another twenty minutes to move to completion. Excellent. Another thrust parried.

Time to order the pull-back before the xenos could take advantage of _Pride of Aarestes_' exposure.

"Admiral, captain Lichfield reports he has taken significant damage to manoeuvre. He is unable to withdraw from his position."

V'Straaken cursed under his breath. He had expected this to happen eventually, but had hoped to be able to leave Gaantt's squadron untouched for longer. Now he would have to strip the rear-admiral of his larger vessels and hope that the lightly armed trader ships could make their way to warp unescorted.

"Get me admiral Gaantt."

"Yes, admiral."

Sara watched the displays as _Piety_ and two of her frigate companions, _Blade of Light_ and _Trusted Edge_, moved to reinforce the main naval forces around Nalen C. Now, with just three vessels giving fire-escort for the refugee ships, things were likely to get a bit hairy.

_Phoenix_ was manoeuvring to take up a central position where her greater fire-power could provide better cover, and not coincidentally, give some relief to the little frigate _Oath of Gold _which as the closest vessel to the xenos had taken considerable damage already in performing her escort duties. At three times the size, with shielding and fire-power to match, _Phoenix_ had both much greater survivability that either _Sword_-class, and a much better chance of preventing any of the several smaller xenos ship-creatures in the vicinity from intercepting the relatively helpless merchantmen.

She looked over at Sedreth as he oversaw the Navy weapons team, a young sub-lieutenant named Jarod and a senior warrant officer called Gleth. Both had initially been almost overawed by the presence of a space marine – as to be strictly fair had their companions – but seemed to have adapted well to Sedreth's calm and cool efficiency. Jarod was currently tracking a xenos thing – she had no idea how the Navy classified these creatures – which was just out of effective lance range but on a vector that would allow a full strike within a few minutes. _Phoenix_'s lances had only been used at middle ranges thus far, primarily due to admiral Gaantt's orders placing them where the broadsides were more effective. There was little point in using the lances on too-small targets when the remainder of any strike might disrupt the freighters' holding pattern. Now, however, they were in a better position and Sedreth clearly intended to make his first full strike worthwhile.

She smiled to herself and glanced toward Graaff at the pilot's controls. Frankly she still wanted those herself, but there was no question that the Naval pilot was more familiar with INS protocols and defensive manoeuvre, so it was a pragmatic decision to leave him where he was most effective.

Loville turned to her. "Captain, _Vein of Fortune_ is fully loaded and ready to head to warp."

Right. Gaantt had effectively left her to keep the convoy ordered. Damned Trade Charter. Sara nodded. "Good. How many more refugees have we?"

"Surface station has boarded eighty thousand; the orbital stations a further one hundred and forty thousand. C-delta station has only regular crew left and their shuttle bays were damaged in the last xenos attack. That only leaves C-beta still boarding refugees from orbit."

The largest of the surviving stations. Hmm. "Have we sufficient capacity there?"

"Yes, captain. Three _Tarask_-class armed freighters, one of which is already loading."

"Fine. Divert the remaining unloaded merchant ships to the surface spaceport. Get hold of whoever is in command down there and tell them we'll be landing extra ships, and we need the facilities opened for that."

"Yes, captain." The woman moved to Janey and Halet; the warrant officer put her through.

Sara tuned the discussion out as Sedreth opened fire with the main lances.

"Direct hit on centre spine. Target destroyed." Gleth's voice was professionally calm.

She caught Sedreth's eye and nodded fractionally.

"Incoming xenos. Multiple escort-class. Bearing tau-four by eight and by nine. Range one half AU." Janey, from scan. She looked over.

"Confirmed. Seven escort-class. They appear to be ram-type kraken-class vessels. In extreme range in four minutes."

"Can you get them all, Morgan?"

"Not in a single broadside, captain, but if we roll to present both broadsides in succession that should suffice."

Sara nodded firmly. "Graaff, roll the ship on gunnery's command. We don't have the crew to fight off a boarding. Morgan, you have the call on this."

"Affirmative, captain," answered the pilot, looking briefly to Sedreth's massive armoured form.

The giant's voice was firm and unruffled, as always. "Jarod, fire proximity on my mark one. Graaff, prepare to roll on mark two. Gleth, you have the starboard guns on my mark three. Direct fire."

The affirmatives had barely come back when Sedreth spoke again. "Mark one. Shoot."

"Shoot," came the immediate reply, and the ship shuddered as the full port broadside spoke simultaneously.

"Multiple hits, three ships appear to have slowed by half."

"Mark two. Roll ship."

The emergency klaxons sounded as Graaff shoved the controls hard over. Not truly necessary, as the artificial gravity was solid as a rock, but s.o.p. for an INS vessel.

"Mark three. Shoot."

"Shoot."

"Two enemy vessels destroyed. Two dead in space. Remainder are still coming; contact in three minutes. Correction. Only one dead in space. ETA of lead enemy two minutes."

"Graaff, turn us to face. Hard over. Sedreth, full lances."

"Affirmative, captain." Graaf swung the yoke and the distance started to narrow. She watched the lines intersect.

"Shoot."

A flare of brilliant light through the bridge viewscreens.

"Lead vessel destroyed. Second enemy vessel also destroyed. Two remaining vessels are altering course."

"Keep the helm over, pilot. Port broadside ready. Jarod, you better not miss." She gave the young woman a tight grin.

"Shoot." Sedreth's deep rumble was almost casual.

"Multiple direct hits. One vessel destroyed. The other is dead in space."

"They're living creatures; they'll heal if we let them. Finish the cripples, Jarod."

"Affirmative, captain. Targets confirmed. Hunting lock." A brief pause, then, "Targets locked."

"Shoot."

Janey's soft voice spoke into the silence. "Targets destroyed."

She looked to Loville. "Get those loaded ships to warp exit before the bloody xenos spawn more of the damned things."

"Affirmative, captain." She spoke urgently into her comm-link.

Sara's own commlink came live in her ear. Harvey.

"Major. What's the problem?"

"No problem, captain. Just wondering why the klaxons sounded; nothing happened."

"That was the take-hold, major. We rolled the ship. Am I to presume that your troopers were unaffected?"

"Yes, captain. We didn't feel a thing."

"Remind me to commend Gramsci when this is over. You may inform your men that we expect to be boarding refugees in another hour or so. Most of the convoy are away; two hundred and thirty thousand people have been so far saved to serve the Emperor."

She could hear the satisfaction in his tone. "That is excellent news, captain. I shall ensure we are prepared to take on the civilians."

"Do that. Bridge out."

"Colonel Siers, ma'am."

Vetta Siers turned to look at the militia corporal. What was his name? Oh yes. "What is it, corporal Notts?"

"Admiral v'Straaken on the comms, ma'am. Urgent."

She took the proffered pick-up. "Admiral. What seems to be the problem?" It was funny how she simply slipped back into the manner of command; all that service must have rubbed off more than she'd realised.

"Colonel." The man's face was tired, as might be expected after hours of commanding a battle-fleet. He gave a very brief smile. "Two things. First, the good news. You just got reinstated and promoted, by my authority. Congratulations, Lord Colonel Siers. Second, and rather more immediate, we have lost _Pride of Aarestes_. The xenos have landed in force approximately one hundred and fifty klicks from your position. More importantly, we cannot provide you with orbital fire support as our remaining ships are hard-engaged. Colonel Avers will be dropping with all the troopers we have available, about fifteen hundred, plus all the additional weapons and ammunition we have. Your orders are to evacuate only mothers with children, and children under twelve. Everyone else, and I do mean everyone, who can hold a las-carbine, is to be issued with a weapon and drafted into militia units. The commissars and Colonel Avers will handle the organisation of the recruitment. Your first job is to get the helpless onto those trader ships. Am I clear?"

She nodded, trying to take it all in without looking like an idiot. "Clear, sir."

"Lord Colonel, one last thing. Once the last trade ship is gone, there will be no further evacuation. Not for Colonel Avers, his men, nor for you, and yours. It will be fight and win, or fight and die."

She felt the man beside her draw in his breath.

"Understood, admiral. Emperor's Grace on you and your squadron. Is there anything else?"

"No, commander. Walk in the Emperor's Light. V'Straaken out." The vid cut out.

Vetta absently handed the pick-up back to the corporal. "Get me ensign Agret."

"Admiral, xenos mother-ship spotted. It must have been in the shadow of Nalen G."

V'Straaken cursed. "Any message regarding reinforcements?"

"No, admiral."

It didn't take long to consider the options; there were none. "Get me admiral Gaantt, priority."

"Admiral?" Gaantt's expression was grim with understanding.

"You've spotted the mother-creature?"

"Yes, sir."

"We will execute battle-plan omega, a full-scale assault on that mother-ship. If the xenos react as normal, they will pull everything back to defend it. It must be destroyed, at all costs."

"In the Emperor's name, sir."

"Full co-ordination, admiral, and no retreat. Tonight we rest with the Emperor."

Gaantt nodded, his face grim. "And we will toast our victory in His Light."

"Captain, incoming, priority."

"Onscreen."

Gaantt. "Captain Tarken, you are hearby relieved of any need to evacuate further. A xenos mother-ship has been spotted in system. It must be destroyed before it can spawn another invasion fleet. You and your ship will join my squadron."

Sara nodded slowly. "Yes, admiral. What is our deployment vector?"

"From your current position, you, with _Oath of Gold_ and _Huntress_ as escorts, will take vector beta-seven. I need you to go in at max, and I need you to get the attention of as many xenos as possible. _Piety_ and her escorts will approach the target from vector delta-three. Admiral V'Straaken in _Augury of Wrath_ will lead the main attack through the middle, either delta-five or delta-four."

"Yes, admiral."

"Captain. One of us must get through and destroy that ship. If you have to detonate your engines to do it. Am I clear?"

"Crystal, admiral. In the Emperor's Name."

He nodded, as if he would say something else, then added. "Good luck, captain. Gaantt out." The vid went dead.

She looked round the bridge. "Well, people, you all heard that. Pilot, get our course shaped up. Loville, get hold of our escorts and ensure they can keep up. Janey, I need you with me in the armoury. Sedreth, I'm going to get suited up, just in case. I'll be back in ten. You have the bridge until then." She didn't wait for acknowledgements as she sprinted from the bridge, her daughter at her heels.

"Captain, the local arbites report they're having trouble with crowd control."

Damnation. Captain Norvil Esiason cursed under his breath._ Pleasance_ was committed to dock now, the last trader for C-beta station. Aborting would cause sufficient back-blast to damage the station, possibly sending it to the surface and killing everyone on it. "Dock anyway. Inform the station that they have to keep the crowds back. I need someone to go down there." He looked round, and Verstark gave a tiny nod of understanding. "Verstark, you're ex-Navy. You go. And make sure you have a sidearm. Be prepared to shoot to kill if necessary to prevent them mobbing the gangway. We can't lift again if it's damaged by idiots."

She nodded. "Yes, captain." A brief meeting of eyes with Marko Oplew, and she was gone at a swift walk.

Oplew looked round at him. "Captain, do you think she would actually kill someone? Kat?"

He nodded silently. As they came into land and he felt the hatch open, he moved quietly over to the scan Lieutenant and gave a grim smile. "I have my reasons for sending Verstark. She will do what she has to."

No arbites. The small militia cordon looked nervous as Kat walked down the ramp. She had taken the time to attach her Lupus seal; the reverence such a decoration held would enhance her chances of getting and keeping attention.

A young, very scared-looking, subaltern was apparently in charge. In front of the nervous troopers, people shoved at makeshift barriers, many waving what she recognised as ident papers.

"I'm Lieutenant Verstark. _Pleasance_ has capacity for one thousand one hundred. Prioritise mothers with young children. Can you do that?"

"Uhm."

She snarled internally, and held out her hand for the man's address mike.

"Alright, people, listen carefully. This ship can take eleven hundred refugees. We are prioritising mothers with young children. Anyone who tries to rush the ramp will be shot. Now, everyone is going to stand still and allow the troopers here to organise an orderly boarding. The militia will keep everyone else off my ship's gangway."

Angry shouts met her announcement. She glanced at the young subbie. "Your men are going under my command. Clear?"

He nodded nervously, glancing behind him at the lowering gangway, then at the frightened mob. She gave him a nasty look and walked easily over to the greying soldier wearing sergeant's insignia.

"Sergeant? I want all your men in a double line in front of that gangway as soon as it hits the ground. Front rank kneeling, rear rank standing, then I want a volley fired over the heads of the crowd. If that doesn't stop them, I want one into the ground. Then if necessary, one at chest height directly into the mob. No arguments. Am I understood?"

The man nodded, and silently handed her a throat mike. She smiled slightly and put it on, repeating her orders through the communit.

"Execute, at the walk," she said as the gangway lowered to touch the station's decking. The uniformed men and women started to fall back and the mob started to move. She stood unmoving, then lifted her sidearm and fired a single shot into the air.

"That will do!" Her voice was contemptuous, and she put every stinging inflection into that tone she knew how to. "Are you not citizens of the Imperium? Stand still. There are more than forty ships still in orbit up there, and all are here for the evacuation. If my vessel is damaged and cannot lift off, everyone on this station is stuck. Now calm down."

The mob had paused at her words, then some idiot yelled incoherent panic and it came on. She spoke into her throat mike. "Sergeant, fire your first volley."

A shudder of crisp laser-bolt snaps echoed over her head. The mob slowed, then came on again.

"Sergeant, second volley. Fire."

The crackle surrounded her this time, and a few bolts deflected of the ground into the crowd, causing cries of pain and shock.

The same voice came again, closer. She saw the man, a rough-bearded blond. Before the crowd could come again she walked calmly towards him. Everything seemed to stop and in the sudden silence the man's voice was loud.

"They're gonna leave us all to die. We gotta get aboard, la.."

He suddenly cut off with a croak as she shoved her sidearm under his nose.

"You were saying?" she said, keeping her voice mild. She raised it a little. "Who here has refugee passes?"

A quick murmur, the mob cowed for the moment.

"Let me guess. You don't." She looked, long and cold, into his eyes. "So you decided to panic everyone in the hope that you could save your own skin." She shook her head.

"Pathetic. All over this system brave Imperial warriors are fighting and dying to save lives. The lives of helpless children, and the lives of vital personnel, and, no, the governor is not one of those. He has already refused to leave. He knows his duty, both to the people of this world and to the Emperor."

Several of those closest to her looked down in sudden shame. She beckoned the sergeant and the young officer.

"I want you two to inspect each pass. No-one gets up that ramp without a valid pass. No exceptions. Clear?"

"Yes, ma'am." Both nodded and saluted. She inclined her head.

Slowly, people started to shuffle forward, offering papers for the two men to check.

Too slow. She beckoned another pair of troopers, attaching one each to the subbie and sergeant. The queue moved faster. While they checked papers, she called over some of the other troopers and had them reset the barriers.

All the time the crowd stood, several thousand strong. She spoke into her ship vox, making sure to be in hearing range of the crowd's edges. They needed an example before there was true panic.

"Captain, Verstark here. This is going pretty slowly. The local law enforcement aren't here and all we have is a short company of militia. I'm taking charge until someone in local authority gets here. Inform naval command about the problem. You'll probably have to leave without me once you're loaded, but Marko can manage scan on his own. Yes. Likewise, captain. If you can arrange for someone to drop off my gear to my family on Meyis. Yes. His Grace on you and your crew. Tell them I'll see them around. Verstark out."

"You're staying?" A scared-looking woman, carrying a girl of maybe two and holding the hands of two young boys, the older perhaps six or seven.

She nodded, smiled. "Someone has to keep this organised."

There was no more trouble after that.

Sara watched another trader ship go to warp with a slight nod of satisfaction. She was back in the command throne, which, built to hold an astartes in full armour, had no trouble holding her own armoured form. The Navy crew had looked both scared and impressed when she had returned wearing the battle-plate, but had remained professional even as Janey went from station to station clipping bolters and las-carbines for emergency use.

"Three minutes to range, captain," said Loville, watching the main tactical display. _Phoenix_ showed on the holographic visual as a golden sliver flanked by two slightly smaller slivers. Their projected course was a pale blue arc, indicating they still held to it. Options arced darker blue, possible intercepts highlighted red or yellow depending upon possible xenos reactions.

"Lances at full power, captain." Sedreth's deep rumble, reassuring in its normality. Janey had taken over system tacscan entirely, leaving Hallet to run comms and keep their escorts with them. More options appeared on the holo, not ones sent them by admiral v'Straaken or admiral Gaantt. She ran the course calcs in her head, trying to see other possibilities.

One of the escort-class xenos came within range and she gave a grim smile. "Open fire."

On _Pleasance_, captain Esiason walked over to his scan lieutenant. He kept his voice very quiet. "In answer to your earlier question, Oplew, Katrin Verstark holds the Lupus Imperialis. Amongst the actions she took to earn it was the destruction of her own ship to prevent its capture by chaos renegades. As I understand it, she had grown up with many of her shipmates. She killed all of them, fifteen thousand men and women, including her lifelong best friend and her own cousin. She has decided that, in the absence of local authority, she will remain on the station to ensure we can undock without problems. In this, I trust her judgement absolutely. Once we leave the system, there will be a service in her honour. I expect you to attend."

Marko nodded silently.

Dietrik Peiper stood beside Harvey as they watched the final preparations made. The men had done a good job, and it would be good to save thousands of people to serve the Emperor. His communit buzzed.

"Peiper."

"Commissar. Sara Tarken here. Change of plans, I'm afraid. A xenos mother-ship has been spotted in system and all INS ships are ordered to engage. We will be joining the naval action. I suggest you get your people in good position and preferably strapped in; the little roll we did earlier is only the start of it. I expect to be pulling upwards of 6Gs when it gets dirty and the compensators might not cope. In the unlikely event we are boarded, we'll need you and the troopers to get us un-boarded again, so can you ask Major Harvey to have his troop outfitted with full armour and weapons, please. I expect to engage in less than five minutes. Tarken out."

"Acknowledged, captain. Peiper out."

He turned to the major. "You heard that?" A nod. "Then let's get to it. Commissary staff as well. We'll need everyone."

Harvey gave a tight grin and hurried to obey, calling for sergeants and subalterns.

"Navigator." Edsel hadn't expected an internal vox, still less on his personal comm.

The woman's voice was quiet. "Navigator Edsel, Sara Tarken. It occurs to me that I've no idea how, or if, we can use a navigator's skills in combat. You're a psyker; can you do anything helpful?"

"I regret, captain, that my skills are limited. The Navigator gene allows me to sense the Astronomicon and thus guide travel in the warp, but beyond that I am not much more of a psyker than you are."

A brief pause. "You can sense the Emperor?"

"His psychic beacon, yes. Though the accursed xenos cause a psychic shadow of their own, I am experienced enough to retain His Astronomicon." It wasn't, quite, a boast.

Another pause as she spoke to someone else. He couldn't quite catch the words; something about engagements. The ship's guns fired again and he felt the machine spirit's fury through his still-active link. Then she came on again. No, this was lighter. Her daughter, it must be.

"Navigator Edsel, Janey here. Can you speak a Word?"

He blinked in surprise, all three of his eyes. "A Word?" He had heard of such things, but, "I have never tried. Nor do I know any Word of the Emperor."

"Librarian-sergeant Mendez said, 'Inkametibnkasiet'. I think it's an evolution of the ancient Terran tongue called Sanskrit."

Edsel thought for a second. "It might be, child. But I have no training, nor the ability to project any answer against the xenos."

_I have the ability._ The voice was in his mind, through the active link. The ship was sufficiently aware to Speak?

Amusement came back at him, ancient, and immensely confident in its own power. _It has been long since I carried a Navigator. Find His Light. Use His Word and Call on the Most High for aid. _

He spoke aloud. "I shall try. As I said, the xenos have shadowed the warp. It may take some time."

The girl's voice. "Thankyou, Lord Navigator. Any help will be welcome." The comm cut out, leaving only the Ship.

_Fear not, Navigator. I will assist. We shall die well this day._

Sara glanced at her daughter, who nodded. "Lord Edsel will do what he can."

"Good. Admiral v'Straaken is hard-pressed. He may not make it through their fire-zone."

Janey nodded and turned back to tactical. "New target approaching bearing nu-two by eleven. Cruiser-class xenos vessel."

Sara watched the new icon on the display and cursed under her breath. It had to be now or never, then. "Signal _Oath of Gold_ to keep it busy. Inform _Huntress_ we are starting our attack run and tell them to keep the other xenos off us for as long as they can. Graaff, take us in, full acceleration."

She didn't wait for the acknowledgements, instead flicking vox channel. "Adept Gramsci, please provide all free power to the shields. Emergency life-support only except on occupied decks."

The man's voder came back immediately. "Affirmative, captain. Power plant steady at maximum safe."

"Forget safe, adept. _Phoenix_ will keep us whole. Plant to maximum output. Override the safeties. That is an order."

A fractional pause. "As you command, captain. Note that more than half an hour at this output will likely blow us up."

She actually laughed. "Gramsci, if we're still alive in half an hour I'll be happy to worry about it. Tarken out."

The ship seemed to vibrate under her as additional readouts came to life on the main display.

V'Straaken cursed as another of his escorts disappeared in a kilometres-across ball of nuclear fire. A gap in the swarm, but not enough.

"Captain Drake, keep us on this heading. Increase speed. We must break through."

Drake acknowledged, but _Augury of Wrath_ was still slowing, the xenos press too great despite their best efforts. Two huge xenos creatures were attached to them now, acid chewing its way through the armour. There were reports of xenos creatures engaged on the secondary gun decks, and heavy casualties. With almost all their troopers already fighting on the planet's surface, there were few combat-trained crewmen to repel the boarders. All they had been able to do was seal the main gun-decks and isolate the control tower, engineering and lances in an attempt to slow the horde down. The flight-decks too were almost over-run; barring a miracle there would be nowhere for their handful of surviving fighters to return to.

"Sir, _Piety_ reports severe engine damage. Admiral Gaantt will be unable to make a proper attack run."

He swore aloud. "And the rogue trader ship?"

"Too much scan interference, sir. I think they're still on course, but it's hard to tell."

"Order them in anyway."

"Yes, sir." A pause. "Sir, _Eyes of the Phoenix_ reports she is already on her attack run. Contact in two minutes. _Oath of Gold_ reports she is crippled and overloading her engines. Detonation in three minutes."

V'Straaken nodded, grim-faced. At least one of his ships was close enough. He just hoped the trader vessel had sufficient capacity. "Captain Drake, I want a full lance strike directly forward in one hundred seconds." For what good it might do as a distraction.

Gaantt and Raglan stood together, watching the system representation. _Piety_ was no longer on her original attack course; she and her escorts had instead swung round to open fire on the xenos engaging the flagship. Maybe the additional firepower would be enough to free the battle-cruiser, at least long enough for the accursed mother-vessel to be destroyed.

A glint of gold on the screen showed sudden movement. Tarken. The rogue trader had outstripped her escorts and was still under massive acceleration.

Raglan's unflappable voice held astonishment. "Acceleration 7.6 Gs. 7.7. 7.8. 8 Gs. They must have overridden the safeties. Why don't they fire? She must be in range by now."

"Shoot, woman." Bramwig's voice, the flag-captain momentarily distracted. "Throne of Terra. Shoot!"

"They're on a collision course."

Sara watched coolly as the huge xenos creature grew in their scopes. "We'll get one shot at this, Morgan." It was more to reassure the rest of them; Kanret would be waiting for her and Janey.

The marine nodded. "All forward weapons awaiting your command, captain."

"Pilot, ready course change."

A beep on her vox. Edsel.

"Navigator?"

"Now, captain, now." The man's voice held inhuman strain.

"All lances and forward batteries. Fire. Graaf, execute."

"INKAMETIBNSUNKIET!" The vox signal became a scream of agony and triumph. The world went white.


	33. Chapter Thirty-one

Chapter Thirty-one

The hospital was not as crowded as it had been. The orderly – a real human, not a servitor – pushed her along an almost deserted corridor which only a few days ago had carried constant traffic. Most of the militia wounded had returned to homes, to take stock and start the long process of rebuilding. The Naval troopers were most of them back on _Piety_, finally repaired after two long months. It felt lonely without the bustle. Just the seemingly endless therapy, repair of back muscles and nerves torn apart by a xenos claw when they'd briefly been over-run.

She'd been lucky, she supposed. Only a dozen people had lived long enough for Colonel Avers' suicidal counter-attack to retake the position. Only two had survived their injuries. Sergeant Mihael had headed home two days ago, honourably discharged and with only one arm.

She'd been lucky, too, that the local tech-priests had synthesised an antivenin for citizens injured by the xenos. That antivenin had helped reduce the neurotoxin damage from xenos injuries not just for her but for tens of thousands of others, or so she'd been told.

She levered herself painfully out of the chair, wincing as her back flared in pain. That was good, they said. It meant that the nerves were regenerating. The orderly helped her onto the therapeutor. She felt the familiar prick of anaesthesia and fell into dreamless darkness.

Commissar Dietrik Peiper saluted the aquila as he stepped onto the familiar deck. It was good to be back on _Piety_ at last. Colonel Avers was there to meet him, and he took the offered hand with his remaining one. He almost looked around for Harvey, then remembered the man was dead. It seemed like only yesterday rather than nearly a month ago.

They walked in silence to the lift, then up to the troop-decks, and finally to the colonel's briefing room. Avers waved him to a seat, not standing on protocol, then stepped to a cabinet and poured them both a drink.

"I read your report, Commissar. Impressive. You'll be pleased to know that Harvey is up for a medal."

He nodded. "He earned it. Without his skill,..." he paused, then went on. "Colonel, I formally request additional tactical training. If Major Harvey had not countermanded one of my orders we could have lost many more than we did."

Avers nodded. "I understand. You're not the first Commissar to stand his ground wrongly." He took a short drink of the amber liquid. "Don't dwell on it. Tactical skills can be improved. Courage, you either have or you don't. You do."

Peiper flushed and sipped his drink, the fiery liquor burning his throat.

Avers gave a wintry smile. "Not my words, Commissar. Brother-sergeant Sedreth said you did well, in the end."

"You've spoken with him?"

A nod. "And with captain Tarken. But I'd like it from you. Off the record, if you like. I already have your official report anyway."

He met the calm gaze, remembered that Avers too had met the xenos in combat. He took another sip.

"We were making our attack run on the xenos mother-ship. I've never felt acceleration like it; you could feel it press you back despite the compensators. Major Harvey and I had got all the men armed and ready, even the commissary staff. Tarken's orders. We were assembled in the drill range near our quarters. Harvey had everyone lie down so as not to be knocked over by manoeuvre at those speeds.

"I'm not sure what exactly happened then. There was a huge flare of light and the ship sort of swung itself sideways, then there was a sudden impact and we were all flung across the room despite the grav compensators. We were picking ourselves up and checking for injuries – a few bruises but nothing serious – when the lights flickered and went out. Then the emergency lighting came up. Major Harvey split the men into four squads, as we'd previously decided."

"You'd lost contact with the rest of the ship?"

"Comms were out for no more than a minute, then captain Tarken came back online and asked for our sitrep."

"What did she tell you?"

"That we'd collided with the xenos mother-ship and to expect boarders. She was going to try and blast us free with the main drives."

"And you?"

"We moved out into the corridors, staying in touch with the bridge. We checked our own deck, then moved to the next one down."

"Why not up?"

"We were just below the control tower. Tarken told us that it wasn't in contact with the xenos ship, so we should move downwards towards more accessible entrances. It made sense."

He took another sip.

"Anyway, we moved down, deck by deck, until we caught movement on deck four, near the stern on the port side. Major Harvey called captain Tarken to inform her, and we set up a cordon. The corridors were pretty much clear, so we were able to organise good fields of fire. Then they spotted us. Not many of them, but enough to be dangerous. Our fire dealt with the first group pretty easily, and then with another. That was when Major Harvey ordered a withdrawal."

"And you disagreed?"

"Yes, sir. I thought we were winning and wanted to advance."

"But Major Harvey overruled you?"

"Yes, as commanding officer on the spot. I considered shooting him – as Commissar it is my right – but I'd known him for two years. I hesitated."

"And you started to pull back."

"Yes, sir. We'd not completed the pull-back when more xenos appeared. They caught us in the flank, but the first withdrawn squad was able to turn theirs. If Major Harvey had not given the order he did, they would have had us from behind. And we would all have died. As it was we lost fourteen men."

"Then what?"

"We started to pull back by squads, covering each other's withdrawal. There was clearly a larger number of xenos than we had first thought. Sergeant Anko got her heavy weapons team set up and she was able to give the retreat decent covering fire. Only four more were lost. But Anko had to abandon the heavy stuff when some of the damned things broke through behind us. We managed to fight our way through them – it was only a small group and we used grenades – but we were down to just thirty-one, so Major Harvey re-organised the troop into three squads, one for each of the main lengthwise corridors. And we pulled back again. But we were losing, and I could see the men started to panic."

"You started with how many?"

"Sixty-six effectives including myself and Major Harvey. We'd killed a lot of the things, but they just kept coming. Anko was on the starboard side with one squad, Harvey with the port squad, and me in the middle with sergeant Tollin. Lieutenant Letfi was dead by then. Then the lights went out altogether and we were firing blind down the corridor. We were still hitting them; we could hardly miss in that narrow a space. You could hear the screeching of the xenos when you injured them, but they were getting closer and closer. Then the lights came back up; someone must have fixed something. And they were just ten metres away. I thought we were dead."

"Obviously not."

Peiper gave a slight shrug. "A woman's voice yelled 'Down' and as we dropped you could feel the heat only decems above us. It was Tarken, in full battle-plate, I don't know where she got it, and she fired a flame-unit right over the squad's heads. She stepped past, barely bothering to glance at us, and sent another burst into the creatures. Then she looked down and said 'Well? What are you lot lying there for? With me, all of you.' And she moved forward again. What else could we, could any warrior of the Emperor, do? A couple of the squad had caught a bit of it, but we were able to put them out, so we followed. We could hear on our left, the starboard corridor, some sort of heavy weapon, like endless thunder echoing along the deck."

"Brother-sergeant Sedreth?"

He nodded. "Yes. We passed a cross-corridor and he was there, with Harvey's squad, like a figure out of legend. He had a huge sword – a power weapon – in one hand, and the biggest gun I've ever seen in the other. I saw a xeno come out of nowhere, I mean literally; I've no idea where it came from. It was just there, right on him, and he didn't miss a beat; he cut it in two without even breaking stride."

"And you advanced?"

"Yes, sir, all of us did. Driving them back until a huge one appeared, much bigger than the others. I've looked it up since, and it was one of the type classified as carnifex. About four metres high; it could barely fit. Sedreth had to reload before it fell, but it killed Major Harvey. Some sort of acid spit, I think. I caught a bit of something similar that took off my forearm, just dissolved it." He grimaced in remembered pain. If not for Tarken pressing the white-hot tip of her flame unit to his stump as battlefield cauterisation, he'd have bled to death, or died of xenos venom. He shook himself and looked back at the other man.

"Go on."

Peiper looked up from the table, suddenly tired. "There's not much more to tell, sir. We held the line for about ten minutes against more and more xenos, then there was a shudder through the whole ship, another huge impact, and the xenos sort of fell over, twitching. We just shot them all as they lay there."

"Do you know what that was?"

"Not really, sir. I haven't had an official report. Just rumours and scuttlebutt."

Avers nodded slowly. "You should know." He touched a control and brought up a schematic holo, expanded it.

"This," he pointed, "was your ship. Whatever the attack she made was – and that's classified above my clearance, so only the admiral knows what weapon she actually used – it disrupted everything in the system. And I really do mean everything. You were at the 'eye' if you like, relatively calm. Every scan, every comm-unit, in the whole system was out for about five minutes. The xenos, as you know, have a hive-mind. We think that was disrupted for more than ten; it's difficult to tell what was orderly intelligent reaction, and what was just instinct. Either way, our ships were able to free themselves with heavy xenos casualties. As _Augury of Wrath_ broke into clear space she could see _Eyes of the Phoenix_ had rammed stern on into xenos mother-ship. And her engines were still working."

Peiper's eyes widened. "That's what she meant. The xenos ships are alive."

"Exactly. Tarken's ship was spewing superheated plasma right into the internal tissues of the hive-mind. That's what broke you free. It ejected the intruder like you would spit out a poisonous thorn. But the damage was already done."

"Sir?"

Avers smiled, looking rather like a satisfied predator. "The collision had ripped a hole two klicks long in the thing's outer tissues, exposing the innards. Tarken's engines had already done severe damage to those internal organs. With _Eyes of the Phoenix_ out of that hole, Admital v'Straaken was able to concentrate all available lances on it. _Augury of Wrath_ alone has lances that can take out half a continent; the thing died. Quickly, but not painlessly; it burned to death from the inside out. Its death agonies disrupted every xeno in the system. A lot of the smaller creatures simply died too, writhing in pain. The rest were easy meat, mostly crippled by the feedback and barely able to understand they were being attacked, let alone defend themselves. The entire invasion was wiped out in less than two hours from the destruction of the hive-ship creature."

"Praise the Emperor," breathed Peiper. He reached for his drink and downed the whole thing.

"Mummy, admiral Gaantt on the comm."

Sara smiled as her channel came live. "Admiral. I trust you are recovered?"

The admiral nodded, hand straying to his new artificial eye for a moment, "Indeed, captain. How are your repairs coming along?"

"Very well. Although I believe tech-adept Gramsci and his companions received a rather forceful dressing down from _Phoenix_'s machine spirit when they tried to fiddle with some of the automation. Luckily Sedreth was able to persuade them to leave it alone; they don't understand the technology anyway. I expect to run a shakedown in-system test in a couple of days."

"That is excellent news. Are you aware that junior Navigator Lyognet has requested a permanent transfer to your vessel?"

She nodded; Lyognet had spoken to her about that very subject three days ago. After discussion with Sedreth and Janey they'd all agreed it would be a good idea. Having a Navigator would be useful.

"And you are willing to take her into your crew?"

"Yes, admiral. She performed very creditably. I presume there will be some sort of payment needed for her House?"

"A minor matter, captain. Under the circumstances I believe I shall be able to put the cost of transferring her contract to my squadron budget. The main issue is that she is technically still an apprentice; Navigator Edsel's last reports stated that he felt she needed another two years or so in post to complete her training. And you do not have a fully qualified Navigator to provide her with that training."

Sara thought for a few moments. "She is sufficiently qualified to back-up Navigation, though?"

"Oh, yes. Quite qualified. You intend to take her as back-up to your test systems?"

"My thoughts precisely, admiral. She will not be guiding the ship through the warp, merely interfacing in case of problems with the automatics."

Gaantt looked thoughtful. "Well, far be it from me to interfere with your ship, captain. And she is surplus to requirements since Navigator Edsel's replacement has his own staff. I shall have the transfer drawn up for your approval. Lyognet can transfer once they're signed off."

"That will be fine, admiral. Would it be possible for the munitioning authorisations to be delivered at the same time?"

"You haven't got them? I thought Denliot had sent them over before we left Schlereth." Denliot had been killed sitting her station when part of the bridge structure, weakened by xeno bio-acids, collapsed. She had not been the only one. "They are probably in her files; I shall have Raglan access them for you, and courier both sets of documents."

"Many thanks, admiral. Emperor's Grace."

"And on you, captain Tarken. Gaantt out."

She looked over at her precious daughter and smiled. "It appears we are about to have a Navigator."

Janey smiled back. "Apprentice Lyognet? That's good. I like her." She paused, looking thoughtful. "Mummy, if we're going to take on a Navigator, won't we need extra bridge crew?"

Interesting thought, Sara conceded, but they'd covered this the other day. "I hadn't thought we would, but I suppose it might be necessary. Why?"

Janey grinned mischievously. "Well, I saw this report on the surface action." She brought it up on Sara's read-display, a written newsdoc, with a section highlighted.

Sara read the section, then read it again. Janey looked innocent. She wasn't fooled. "Janey?"

"Mummy, it can't be coincidence. What are the odds of the same person being here, half a galaxy from where we met her?"

Sedreth nodded slowly from his station, and looked at her. Sara, too, nodded. "I think you're right. There are millions of worlds, and hundreds of millions of possible courses for her to take passage. That she's here, fought in the same battle we did, again. It has to mean something."

"She's scan, correct?"

Janey nodded. "It would be good to have someone else on the bridge. And two new people would make it easier for Navigator Lyognet as well. She wouldn't be the only new one."

Sara looked at the marine in shared understanding. It looked like Janey would be getting her way, as usual.

The other orderly, Geni, was walking her back today. She felt a sense of satisfaction, that she no longer had to use the chair. It hurt still, a little. But her back was getting better every day. Now that the main muscle groups had regenerated, the nerves only gave her the occasional twinge rather than the agonising full-blown spasms of a week before.

The familiar patients' lounge wasn't empty today though. A young woman stood at the windows, her back to the door, gazing out at the battle-damaged city. Dark hair was pulled with a silver clasp into a ponytail that hung just to below her neck, a dark contrast to the richly embroidered formal over-robe that hung to the floor in a luxuriant pattern of gold flames on purple.

As Geni helped her to sit, the woman turned. Not a woman; not yet. Perhaps fourteen or fifteen. Kat blinked in sudden recognition as Janey Tarken gave a brilliant smile.

"Lieutenant Verstark. It is so good to see you again." Janey almost bounced as she walked forward, hand outstretched. She had grown a few inches since they'd last met, and was almost as tall as Kat herself. The roundness of childhood – not that she'd had much baby fat anyway – was almost gone from her face and Kat could see the young woman she would soon be behind the almost childish enthusiasm.

"Sera Tarken. I didn't expect I'd ever meet you again. Was your ship involved in the evacuation?"

Janey's smile flickered. "Yes. In the fighting, really. Some of the people we had on board were killed." Her face brightened again. "So we need more crew, and mummy asked me to give you this."

She reached into her robe, giving a glimpse of a still-coltish but definitely developing form in a tight black jacket and trousers. A scroll case was fished from an inner robe pocket; Kat noticed that Janey Tarken was, as she had always been, armed with both bolt pistol and blade. She noted a throat-mike as well, and suspected there would be more than just the visible weaponry about the young woman's person.

She accepted the case and hesitantly opened it; a hand-written contract offer slid out, inked in black on expensively illuminated formal parchment. It was the sort of document one offered to a high-ranking member of the nobility, not to a jobless junior officer. And it had her name on it.

She heard Geni draw in her breath slightly.

Janey gave a wicked grin. "I looked up the protocols. As a non-astartes holder of an astartes senior decoration, you technically rank with a higher guild member. Since mummy holds a hereditary warrant, the formal contract document gives you authority beyond a normal ship's officer. If you sign it."

She looked over it more carefully. The language was formal, even archaic. Most of it was fairly standard, she recognised. But..

"Sera, Janey, what exactly does '_Imperatoris in nomen, ferire hostem, ubicumque invenitur'_ mean? It's not Gothic. In fact a lot of this isn't Gothic."

"It's Latin, an ancient Terran language which has been used in law and commerce since the earliest days of civilisation, before even the first millennium. In this case it means 'In the Emperor's name, to smite His enemies, wherever they are found'. The paragraph below confirms that we will supply battle-armour and weapons to do exactly that."

She fished in her inside pocket and handed over a dataslate. "Here's a translator, if you want."

Kat took it, shaking her head, still somewhat disbelieving. "I'm just a scan officer. I have no training in combat."

Janey gave a wicked, genuinely predatory, grin. "A scan officer with the Lupus Imperialis. A scan officer who stayed behind on a dock to ensure refugees were safely boarded and her own ship undocked, then took a shuttle to the surface to defend an unimportant town on a planet she'd never heard of. Who led two hundred volunteers and was wounded defending that town against tyranids. Who, incidentally, is up for another decoration for courage in the face of the Emperor's enemies?"

Kat blushed, embarrassed. She didn't deserve any more recognition than those others who'd dropped with her. "Anyone would have done it," she said defiantly. "Lots of people did. Most of them died."

The girl nodded briefly. "I know. But I've read the action reports. More to the point, so has mummy. So has Sedreth. They want you. I want you." She paused for a moment, suddenly looking solemn and a lot older than her years. "I won't lie to you, Lieutenant. If you take this service, it's pretty much for life, and the chances of you living to see your old age are virtually nil. I doubt we will ever go near your homeworld again, nor have the facilities to contact it beyond sending – not, probably ever, receiving – the very very occasional letter."

"But you still think I should say yes."

The girl laughed. "Yes, of course. We know you."

Which was, Kat reflected, as great a compliment as she'd ever had, in its way. She looked again at the contract; the allowances were huge, far more than she could get on any normal ship. There was even a year-long probation period; they could agree to cut it short if it didn't work out. "Don't we need witnesses?"

Janey looked pleased. "That's a yes?"

Kat nodded. "Yes."

"I have a notary next door. Mummy's witnessed signature is already on this." She murmured into the throat-mike; an expensive one, to allow a subvocalisation like that. The door on the left opened and a man in formal notary's robes walked out.

C-station was still scarred and pitted. A small xenos force had managed to land on it during the fighting, only to be wiped out by vengeful Imperial militia and citizens when the mother-ship had died. The decking and walls nonetheless showed the marks of heavy fighting, acid-formed gouges and stark sooty burn marks remaining as silent indications of tyranid creatures' destruction.

On the docks there was only minimal traffic, mostly a handful of tired-looking militia and arbites on patrol or guarding ships' accesses. She showed her pass to a female sergeant with a recent and unpleasant-looking scar on her neck and was nodded past without more than a glance at her protective bandana.

The gangway was quiet as she walked up it, making soft metallic echoes on the dockside. At the top stood a black-clad figure, armed, but with hands clasped easily behind her back.

"Welcome aboard." Sara Tarken was all uniformed formality, immaculate and smart. Only the twinkle in her brown eyes gave the lie to the pose.

Astrid smiled in response. "Honoured, captain." She accepted the firm handshake from her new employer, and followed her through the entranceway.

It felt good to have a contact on her own merits for the first time. Technically, she wasn't a fully qualified Navigator; her apprenticeship with Edsel had had another two years to run. Yet, Tarken had asked for her, specifically. A small part of her was nervous, worried that she might not be able to live up to the captain's expectations.

"I took the liberty of having your gear moved to quarters close to ours, in the main command tower. Since you don't have any support staff, I thought you might appreciate what small company we can offer. I can have it moved to the Navigator quarters if you'd prefer."

Astrid shook her head. "That won't be necessary, captain. Truth be told, and despite our reputation, Navigators prefer the society of others to solitude."

Tarken smiled briefly. "Good. I have arranged that the list of necessary foodstuffs you gave us be available for you. If you care to show the other crew how to prepare them, I'm sure Janey or Sedreth will be only too happy to. Or I would; I find catering a rather pleasant way to relax."

"You cook for your crew?" It was hard not show disbelief.

An amused, even wicked, grin. "Of course. 'Food foraging and preparation can be a vital skill.' To quote my favourite astartes. Sedreth, naturally, is an excellent cook." A tiny, but fond, frustration in her tone?

A deep voice spoke from the shadows, amused. "Do I hear criticism?" How could she not have noticed the massive space marine?

Captain Tarken chuckled easily. "Not at all, Morgan. Although just occasionally I would like to find something you are not an expert in."

A rumbling laugh. "You are already a better pilot than I, Sara. And honestly, I prefer your cooking to my own. Welcome aboard _Eyes of the Phoenix_, Navigator. Since we have never been properly introduced, I am brother-sergeant Morgan Sedreth, 79th Century, Legio Astartes Tres." A huge armoured paw gently enveloped her own hand. "Your daily training will be at 1300 mainday."

Astrid looked from one to the other. "Training?"

Tarken smiled. "All the crew are combat-trained. Myself included. But I have asked Morgan to go easy on you and Lieutenant Verstark, since neither of you are used to it."

The big man met her gaze with casual equanimity. "This ship has many enemies, Navigator. While I know that few will dare attack a Navigator, for good though infamous reason, I guarantee that you will be able to defend yourself without recourse to your third eye."

"Oh," she said. "I suppose that would be good."

A deep bass chuckle. "_Mens sana in corpore sano_, Navigator."

The marine fell into step beside them, moving almost silently despite his armoured bulk. A healthy mind in a healthy body? She looked at the captain, who appeared to consider nothing out of place. Maybe, aboard this ship, it wasn't.

Kat gave a tentative smile to the other woman, the Navigator, also new to the ship. They'd met earlier, at dinner the previous night, and were now waiting to start their first 'training session' with the big space marine Morgan Sedreth. The other woman gave a shy smile in return, looking rather nervous.

The big man strolled in. "Lieutenant, Navigator. I think we should start with a few basics. I shall address you as Kat and Astrid, you may call me Sedreth, or Morgan if you prefer. First allow me to explain why you are going to train with me. The registration number of this ship is _epsilon-76, 0001-delta, 29-sigma, gamma-79_. Can either of you translate that?"

Kat thought for a moment then said, "Not all of it."

Astrid nodded. "No, not all. I recognise the epsilon as meaning a military class of ship, and the sigma as meaning a space marine vessel."

Kat nodded. "Yes. I know only capital ships had epsilon numbers over 50, and I think the second pair indicates the planet of manufacture."

He nodded. "Correct. _Epsilon-76_ indicates a _raptor_-class vessel. A strike destroyer, designed to carry troops while having the fire-power to hold its own with a cruiser-class enemy. You have both seen the ship's specification, so you understand that we are both heavily armed enough to fight anything smaller than a heavy cruiser, and fast enough to out-manoeuvre and outrun anything large enough to take us down easily. _0001-delta_ indicates, as you said, the planet of manufacture. In this case, the fourth planet of system 0001, better known as Sol."

Astrid's mouth opened then shut again. Kat felt her own jaw drop in similar surprise. "This ship was built at Mars?" asked the Navigator, the first of them to recover.

He nodded. "Indeed. We have a recording of the ship's dedication. You will both see it later. Trust me, you will never forget it. Now, the third pair indicates, as you said, Kat, that this she was commissioned as an astartes vessel. The numeric half of that pair indicates when she was commissioned. In this case the 29th millennium." He gave a wintry little half-smile at their expressions. "The final alphanumeric pair indicates which astartes unit she was commissioned for. The letter is based upon the ancient Greek alphabet, in order by Legion number. Thus alpha indicates Legion I, the Dark Angels, and so on. The last number originally indicated the company, or combat century, of that Legion. That has of course been adapted. Thus the Crimson Fists, for example, being the second chapter founded of the Imperial Fists, have a tripartite registration of the form _zeta-secundus-company-number_; their successors the Crimson Guard and the Celestial Guard expand that sequence to _zeta-secundus-primus-company-number_ and _zeta-secundus-secundus-company-number_ respectively. You follow?"

They both nodded. Kat asked the obvious. "What Legion is gamma then?"

"The Third Legion. Which was also known as – in fact is still known as – the Emperor's Children. A name you, Kat, will recognise all too well."

She blanched and nodded. Astrid looked at her, confused. Sedreth spoke quickly to explain.

"Astrid, the Children were one of the traitor legions that followed the Warmaster Horus during the Heresy that bears his name. Kat was aboard a INS ship taken by them about four years ago. She was wounded and many thousands of her crewmates died."

The Navigator blushed, and nodded quickly.

"So, to summarise, this ship, _Eyes of the Phoenix_, is the last and only loyalist vessel of a traitor Legion. In addition, I am the last member of that Legion who is loyal to the Emperor. Not surprisingly, the traitors don't like that at all. Which is why all of us train for combat. There's more to it than that, but it's enough to be going on with."

They exchanged glances, then looked back at the big marine and nodded.

"We understand," said Kat.

"Enough, at least," added Astrid.

"Excellent," he said and smiled. It was a rather wicked smile which put both women in mind of rather large predator.

The man took off at a full sprint, leaving them well behind.

"Throne of Gold. How does he do it?" asked Kat, desperately sucking in air as she staggered along beside her new captain. It was her fourth day of training, and her second run of the ship's 3.9km processional.

Sara smiled, running easily despite bearing a 60 kilo backpack that Kat could barely lift. "He's bred for it. All space marines are genetically enhanced, both for combat and for survival in hostile environments. And, since those enhancements are taken from the genetic material of the Primarchs, that makes them all grand-children of the Emperor. Strangely enough, they're all superhuman."

"You're not, though. Are you?" She and Astrid had both been astounded at the incredible fitness levels of their captain and her daughter.

A chuckle. "No. But Morgan's been training me for years. I am almost decent now, he tells me. I hesitate to think what 'good' will mean."

The deep voice called back to them. "Less talk, more running, ladies. If you have the breath to talk, you're not working hard enough."

Astrid stretched slowly, letting Janey pull her legs into position. Unfamiliar muscles ached as they warmed down.

"You know, Janey, that Navigators don't exercise like this?"

The girl gave a quick grin. "Mr Morgan's answer would be '_mens sana in corpore sano_, Navigator'. Which is true."

"A healthy mind in a health body. Yes, he's said it more than once. But by the Throne, I don't need to be this healthy. Ow!"

A merry laugh, which put her in mind to kill, or at least to seriously injure. "Yes, you do."

Astrid groaned.

Jedoan Gaantt watched through the armoured glass viewing portal as the great ship pulled away from station. Fully repaired and munitioned, she was once again a power to be respected.

Not looking round, he felt rather than saw Bramwig move up to join him.

"If it wasn't for them, we'd all be dead," said the flag-captain in a soft murmur.

Gaantt nodded. And if the Inquisition ever found out how they'd done what they did, he had no doubt that Sara Tarken and her crew would be in custody before you could say 'Heresy'. Which was the main reason he had arranged Lyognet's transfer. She had been the only witness – surviving witness anyway – when Edsel had somehow focussed the Emperor's unparalleled psychic wrath through the ship's main lances. That wasn't supposed to be possible, as far as Gaantt knew, and Edsel wasn't around to say how he'd done it; the effort had killed him, reducing his body to a smoking corpse.

But the Gaantt family always paid their debts, and this was a matter of honour. More than five million people were alive because of that ship, and he was damned if he had any intention of explaining why to the Inquisition.

The Emperor had stepped in to save His people. That was enough for him, and for anyone else.

He turned back to his squadron captain. "The Emperor's Grace looks on them, Bramwig. For which I, for one, am thankful. Now, what about those patrol schedules?"

The two men turned back to their duties, leaving _Eyes of the Phoenix_ to go to warp unseen.


	34. Chapter Thirty-two

**Chapter Thirty-two**

It had been a verdant world, once. A virtual paradise. Long ago. Now, it was dead, the tectonic plates themselves cracked and torn, their rocky surfaces covered in ash, rubble, and the millennia-abandoned remnants of war. No water flowed, and the atmosphere was too thinned of oxygen to support life. Only an ancient beacon, still sending its interdict warning from the system edge, indicated that there had ever been human interest here.

Far out on that edge, purple lightnings erupted out of nowhere. A vast tear in material space forced itself into existence, jagged contours smoothed by vast energies into a portal a hundred kilometres wide. From that portal slipped a long lean vessel, all dark armour with a few glints of gold. Once again, _Eyes of the Phoenix_ came out of warp.

On the bridge, Sara turned to her small crew. "Good job, everyone. That was remarkably smooth."

The comms channel spoke. "There is no warp activity here, captain. That is why. I have never known anywhere so devoid of it. As if the warp itself shuns the system."

"Astrid, that is less than comforting," came Kat's voice from her station at system scan. She half-turned in her seat. "But she's right. Bar the interdict beacon, there's nothing I can pick up. The star is putting out the usual EM noise, but otherwise, nothing."

Sara nodded. "Good. Given what finding activity might mean, nothing is a lot safer. Morgan, you have a course?"

"Yes, captain. Displaying now."

She glanced at it, and downloaded it to her controls. "Alright. Keep shields and weapons online. Geller fields too. It seems that nothing is here, but let's not take any chances. Astrid, come up to the bridge. I want you at weapons aux."

The Navigator acknowledged. "On my way."

They drifted in at less than a twentieth _c_. Scans showed nothing except the beacon, and Janey had set automatic monitors in case that changed its signal. In the seventeen hours it took to close to high anchor above their destination, they had time to scan everything, to double-check the scans, to run all the ship's system checks. All of them had had a full sleep cycle, even Sedreth. _Phoenix_ slid slowly past two outer multi-mooned gas giants, the rocky, blasted, fifth planet with its rings of ancient war-mangled detritus, the fourth planet – another gas giant – and finally past the remnants of a mined-out asteroid belt to take up position over the equator of the third world.

* * *

Janey and Kat spent the next thirty-three hours – the planet's rotational period – running scan after scan. Only a faint emission from the still-radioactive scar across the larger continent showed on their displays.

"Is it safe to go down?"

"Yes, mummy. The residual radiation levels are minimal now. Armour will be impervious to it. It won't even penetrate bare skin. Except that there's no atmosphere left to breathe, really. Oxygen levels are only 3%, and atmospheric pressure is only a couple of hundred Pascals – about a five hundredth of Terran normal. It's not quite vacuum, but only a space marine could survive in it for long."

Kat nodded. "And it's freezing. Even at noon, temperatures don't get much above two-sixty Kelvin; night-time temperatures are thirty degrees lower than that. An unprotected human would freeze to death in minutes."

Sara nodded thoughtfully. "But it's safe to go down in armour?"

"Or suits, yes."

"Fine. We know what we're here for. We'll take it in shifts. Astrid, you're not fitted to armour yet, so I want you in an environment suit and inside one of the vehicles at all times until Sedreth and Janey are finished with your set. We take no chances. Load the shuttles. Janey, you're first orbital watch. Kat, you're second. One of you two will remain aboard at all times, and keep tacscan operative. Any questions?"

Silence.

"Very well. Let's get started." The small group moved to obey.

* * *

The shuttle took them in without trouble. Picked up from a forge-world they'd delivered to six months before and designed for mining in hostile environments, it was simple to fly, rugged but stable. The chosen landing spot was an open area, what might once have been a forest or park perhaps. Sedreth landed the vehicle cleanly, and moved to the hatch, leaving Kat at co-pilot. She was, after much practice, a skilled enough shuttle pilot to lift off without a co-pilot these days, and as Sara had said, they were taking no chances.

He stepped carefully onto the surface; scans showed solid, but still. Good, decent footing even for a Terminator's thousand kilo bulk. A full scan of the area showed nothing; no movement, no sign of life. Not exactly surprising, but they lived by expecting surprises. Sara followed him down the short ramp.

"I have nothing."

"No. The planet appears devoid of life."

She spoke into the vox. "Astrid, you can bring it out."

Their little rock-miner, another recent addition to their equipment list, rumbled down the ramp. Tracked and squat, it had been designed to mine asteroids; a barren planetary surface posed no problems.

"Kat, lift off and pick up the additional gear from the ship. We'll head for that rocky hill and you can bring it down to us in about two hours."

Kat acknowledged and they were dusted in grey as the shuttle took off again. He and Sara took flanking positions as Astrid drove the miner forward.

* * *

Two days later the main work of cutting was finished. A smooth black plane of igneous bedrock now rose thirty metres high and fifty across overlooking the few shattered and crumbling ruins that had once been the Choral City.

Janey was at the miner controls, carefully plotting where and how deep to start carving. Astrid and Sara were on _Phoenix_, readying the evening meal. Sedreth and Kat were busily stacking ingots of gold-iridium alloy for later use. Four larger crates were also stacked, slightly to one side from the rest.

"All plotted, Mr Morgan."

Sedreth paused in his work. "Good, Janey. I shall contact your mother. I think we should all be here for this."

Astrid looked up as the comm beeped. "Brother-sergeant Sedreth? Is there a problem?"

The deep voice came back clearly. "Not at all, Navigator. I would, however, like both you and Sara to come down. We are about to start the next phase."

She smiled. It was nice of him to want everyone there. "I'll tell her. Shuttle should be down in fifteen minutes."

"Fifteen minutes. Confirmed. Sedreth out."

Sara came into land beside their monolith. Three armoured figures waved acknowledgement to her as the shuttle swept down. She gave a tiny sigh. It felt awful, as a mother, to see her daughter in battle-plate. Even Agnetha's battle-plate, that was still too big for her. It was a reminder that Janey would be risking her life as well, all too soon.

She extended the landing struts and touched down on the smooth bare rock; they'd cut a deliberate ellipse into the outcrop, the black monolith at its centre, which was eighty metres on its long axis. Sufficient for their shuttle, easily.

She undid the safety straps and the two of them walked down the ramp to join the others.

Sedreth's deep voice was firm. "Sara, I think you should give the command to start."

She nodded. "Janey. Execute programme."

A high-pitched whine rose as the drill-bit started, slowly carving into the two-metre thick slab. They all watched in silence as the Imperial aquila took shape, etched eighteen centimetres deep in the polished black surface.

"How long will it take to carve the whole thing?" asked Kat quietly.

"About seven hours," replied Sedreth, his voice solemn. "I have set up floodlights; we can finish that part tonight. The embedding will take about three days, as it is more difficult, then a further day to fix. We can hold the formal dedication in six days."

* * *

Astrid felt uncomfortable in the armour; she had never worn it before and although she knew it was necessary for protection from the freezing atmosphere it pressed on her in strange places. Sedreth had rebuilt three sets now. One each for Sara, Kat, and herself, although hers was only just completed and still to be finally fitted. Janey had been semi-fitted – enough for her to wear it at need – to the set of Sister of Battle armour that they had acquired before Astrid or Kat came aboard. Sedreth had refused to try and adapt a set of astartes plate for the girl; Janey was still not old enough – barely fourteen and therefore with growing still to do.

Astrid was, well, she was a Navigator. She had no real instinct for personal combat, nor for tactics beyond the most basic. She was, she admitted to herself, much healthier than she had been. She could use a sidearm competently. And she had found in herself a remarkably strong stomach which helped a great deal to act the medicae. Still, she was uncomfortable in armour.

Sedreth gave her a brief nod, likely picking up on her discomfort. He was no psyker; it was more that years and years of experience in reading opponents and allies, coupled with superhumanly acute senses, allowed him to diagnose at a glance the moods of those around him. And he could probably smell where any of them was in her menstrual cycle.

She returned the nod and walked slowly to the shuttle. Sedreth had promised to fit it better to her over the coming weeks; he had naturally concentrated on fitting Kat first.

She thought back to the first time the little crew had gone into a fight. It had been just over four months ago, an assistance request from a small colony world near the infamous Ork Empire known as Charadon. Although the arrival of a small Ork kroozer – barely a frigate really – was far from a full-scale Waagh!, the sparsely populated world nonetheless had little military capability with which to defend itself. Their obsolete and outgunned patrol ship had been no match for the Ork vessel.

_Phoenix_, however, was another matter entirely. The strike destroyer's massive lances had cut through the greenskin starship's defences in only a few minutes, blowing it to atoms, and they had taken orbit over the main human population.

Sedreth's tactical expertise had quickly diagnosed the direction of the heaviest ork attack, and he, Sara and a slightly nervous Kat had teleported down right on top of it, with commensurate slaughter.

Kat had been wounded though, and it could have been much worse if Janey hadn't 'ported herself down with extra ammunition for Kat and Sara, plus her own bolter, and joined in. Sedreth had not been best pleased and had driven all of them except Astrid extremely hard for weeks afterwards, until Janey had gone to him in tears and begged forgiveness.

Since then, Sara and Kat trained as a duo all the time.

The shuttle bumped slightly. Landing. Right. Wool-gathering. Sedreth didn't seem to have noticed, but she was sure he had. The space marine didn't miss much, if anything.

They walked together down the ramp into pale bright sunshine.

Sometime during the hours she'd been back on the ship, the four poles had been raised in front of the huge slab, which no longer stood black and forbidding but now glinted in the weak sun, inlaid in a platinum-gold alloy with thousands of names beneath a monstrous aquila and four ancient heraldic symbols.

Sedreth stopped beside her and she waited as he slowly scanned the new memorial.

"Excellent work, Sara. The Fallen would be pleased," he rumbled, sounding satisfied.

Sara sounded pleased. "I hope so. It is a pity that we don't have anyone official to dedicate it."

"No official of the Imperium as currently constituted would be recognised by them as representative of anything they had fought for, Sara. We are sufficient for this." Sedreth replied gravely.

"Very well. Shall we be about it?"

Each of the women moved to a pole and took the control in her hand. Sedreth spoke quietly, but firmly.

"As should have been done centuries since, we remember the Fallen of the Legions, Betrayed but Defiant, Loyal to their sworn oaths. Let their colours fly forever before their mighty names, until the world itself falls. The Third Legion."

Kat twisted her wrist and a huge Emperor's Children banner unfurled itself, flapping gently in the wind.

"The Twelfth Legion."

Janey did the same and the blue and white of the World Eaters flew for the first time in a hundred centuries.

"The Fourteenth Legion."

Astrid turned her own wrist over and unfurled the great green skull and ring of the Death Guard.

"The Sixteenth Legion."

Sara too worked the flagpole to release the black wolf's head and crescent on the pearl-white of the Luna Wolves.

The fabrics were expensive, specially made to order; even on this dead world with its constant freezing winds they would last hundreds of years.

Sedreth's deep voice held them still and unmoving. "_In nomen et voluntate Imperatoris, aeternum nomina eorum tolerare. Ave Imperator_."

"_Ave Imperator._"

Astrid bowed her head. "_Requiescamus in pace_."

She looked up at the huge monument, the thousands of names gleaming proud gold in the setting sun. One by one they knelt in silent prayer.

Finally, Janey spoke the ancient words quietly into the silence.

"_Staunch to the end against odds uncounted,They fell with their faces to the foe._ _They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:_ _Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn._ _At the going down of the sun and in the morning,_ _We will remember them._ _And we shall avenge them._"

Sedreth spoke an unfamiliar question. "What is your duty?"

Only Sara and Janey answered. "Service to the Emperor's will."

"What is the Emperor's will?"

"That we fight and die."

"What is death?"

"Death is our duty."

The big marine stood; they all followed suit, copied his salute. He spoke one more word. "Dismissed."

They all bowed briefly to the monument, turned, and walked together back to the shuttle. After a few moments, the heavy tread of the Terminator followed behind.

* * *

A/n: apologies for the late update. This, and the next couple of chapters, which will follow soon, are relatively quiet as the tale moves towards its final phases. However I do hope you enjoy them; I always wanted to write a chapter like this one, where astartes commemorated their betrayed brethren. Finally, canon to the contrary, I am sticking to my Legion strengths despite the publication of the Horus Heresy series by Forge World.


	35. Chapter Thirty-three

**Chapter Thirty-three**

It was a solemn gathering at the table that evening. Astrid sat across from Sara, as usual, but the captain was preoccupied. Kat and Janey also faced each other as normal, but they too were quiet and thoughtful. Conversation was muted, not much more than requests for condiments.

Sedreth watched the four women – it was hard to think of Janey as a woman, but she was no longer a child – with quiet concern. He had not expected them to be quite as affected by the raising of the memorial as they had been. He had not, for that matter, expected to be so affected himself. Still, it was done, and well done. He reached for a bread roll, broke it and smeared the soft inside with fruit preserve.

"Sara, you should make more of this. It is remarkably good."

She gave him a startled glance. He rarely commented on the food. He smiled back. "The plinth is done, and well done, and tomorrow we can commence local scans for possible salvage. The Fallen will not mind."

Sara nodded slowly, then sighed. "No. I suppose they won't."

"Good. Now, all of you, eat. We have been working hard this last few days, and once we go back to normal workouts, I will not have anyone complain about being too tired."

Janey gave a short laugh. "Thanks, Mr Morgan. We needed that."

He returned her smile. "Yes, you did. No more moping?"

They nodded, not quite in unison.

"Excellent. Astrid, Janey and I will start fitting your armour properly tomorrow. I know you feel it is uncomfortable, and possibly unnecessary, but it needs to be done. We have been boarded a couple of times now, and I will not have you defenceless."

She nodded, not mentioning the fact that a Navigator was never entirely defenceless, since opening her third eye to ordinary people was invariably fatal.

He grinned and turned back to his plate, smiling inwardly as the conversation slowly rose back to something approaching normal.

* * *

"Mr Morgan, I think I have a combat site that's mostly intact."

Sedreth turned in his chair with a brief smile. "Excellent. That makes four. Can you get much of a reading on the wreckage?"

"Not yet. Kat, can you help me fine it down?"

The red-haired woman slid across from her neighbouring station. In a few seconds the two of them were deep in discussion, Janey's self-taught technical tricks marrying well – as they usually did – with Kat's extensive naval and merchant training.

Less that ten minutes later, a fourth location was confirmed on Sedreth's display. He re-ran the analyses; they had no especial schedule, but he still had no wish to linger in the system too long. Still, there was a decent possibility that, even after all this time, some salvageable artefacts might be recovered. None of the traitor Legions had made more than a token attempt at salvage at the time, and he was fairly certain that none had ever returned once the Rebellion had unfolded. Yet, ten millennia ago, the Legions had been equipped with many now-lost technologies. As the Imperium had deteriorated and knowledge been lost, that once-common equipment had become rarer and rarer. Like _Phoenix_ herself, much of that ancient technology was immensely superior to its modern equivalent. Hence their current search.

That he had certain hopes he had not shared with anyone else was not something he cared to consider, even to himself. The Emperor had led them here; there must be a purpose beyond the obvious.

"Sedreth, I have an energy reading. Extremely faint, bearing 174, range fourteen metres. I think it might be underground."

"An energy reading? Can you tell anything else?"

"Not much. Just a minimal emission wave, slightly unstable. It's probably underneath all the rubble." She pointed.

An dangerous-looking pile of shattered rubble, a few twisted metal girders poking through it, met their collective gaze. Sedreth took advantage of his armour's auto-senses to scan it. "There is an opening under the pile. But the debris is not stable enough to walk upon. We will have to move it. Janey, can you bring up the rock-miner, please? The servitors will not be enough for this."

With the vehicle's assistance they were able to excavate the main mass of rubble fairly quickly, leaving a downward passage gaping open.

"Definitely a reading from down that passage. But there's no way you can fit down that hole in Terminator armour, Sedreth," said Kat quietly.

"No life signs or movement, though," said Janey. "We could send down a servitor. To look round."

He nodded. "A good idea. Let us do that. It can check for stability at the same time; the masonry is ancient, even if there has been no plant life to take root in the cracks."

Several minutes later, they watched on their tactical displays as the servitor, properly programmed, advanced down a steep crumbled stairwell.

"On the left. A shoulder-plate. White."

"I see it. Scanning. That's Death Guard, 5th Grand Company. The nameplate is too damaged to make out."

"This is close to where the XIVth Legion's assault force originally deployed under Captain Temeter. Mortarion must also have landed his forces somewhere around here; it could belong to either side. Although the absence of a body implies a traitor who was retrieved alive. Move on."

"Opening ahead. Lots of bolter impacts on the walls, and the remnants of a makeshift barrier. I think someone tried to hold here."

"Agreed. Move more slowly. That energy reading is close by; very faint."

"Still no identification?"

"No. It's not like the last flickers of a power unit though. Must be something else."

"Halt and scan, full circle."

"That is a body. Definitely Death Guard. Leg severed, looks like the armour took a melta-gun shot."

"Yes, Sedreth, I agree. That's definitely heat-based weaponry. Another body behind it, facing the entrance. Helmet is smashed; looks like heavy bolter fire?"

"Yes. Sara, are you getting this for archive?"

"Clear feed, Morgan. Can you have the servitor get a close-up on the armour pauldrons? I want i.d. if we can."

"Scanning now, mummy. Manteth, sergeant's insignia, and Odonal, battle-brother."

"Betrayed, both of them." None of them queried Sedreth's astartes-eidetic memory.

"Should we retrieve the corpses, Morgan? Give them a proper service?"

"No. Let them lie here as they died, facing their enemies."

"Affirmative. Moving past."

"Hold. There's another body. Gold on the helmet."

"I see it. Moving forward. Company captain, I think?"

"Century captain. 13th century, 5th Grand Company. Arthius."

"Another of the Betrayed?"

"Yes."

"To the left, Janey. We're past the energy source. Yes, that's better. Straight ahead. It should be less than a metre."

"I don't see anything. Wait. Under that broken power unit."

"I have it. Can the servitor retrieve it?"

"Wait. There's a wire. Might be booby-trapped."

"Even after all this time? And what would they booby-trap anyway? The corpses aren't trapped, and you might expect them to be."

"The Death Guard never took trophies. Not at that time, and not since."

"Janey, can you scan?"

"No. The servitor isn't equipped for it. Someone will have to go down."

"No, Janey. I shan't risk a life. Have the servitor move the power unit."

"Yes, mummy. Moving now."

"What is it?"

"An apothecary's storage unit for geneseed from the Fallen. It includes an inbuilt stasis device. That is definitely the energy reading?"

"Yes. Will it have?"

"Geneseed in it? Almost certainly. That explains why we picked up the energy emission; it is almost out of power and close to collapse. Normally, stasis fields are self-contained and self-sustaining, so they give off no readings at all. It is almost unheard of that a stasis generator of this type could run out of power; they were designed to be effectively eternal."

"Ten thousand years in total darkness is a long time, Morgan. Can we bring it safely aboard? It won't blow up or anything now it's losing stability?"

"It should be safe; the equipment had a fail-safe rather than risk geneseed. In any case, it should be possible to deactivate it via the unit's interface."

"Alright. Let's get it back to the ship with the rest. I'd like to break orbit and head for Isstvan V."

* * *

The dedicated servitor in the infirmary was highly capable for normal medicae, but not programmed to deal with astartes physical enhancements, and especially not with geneseed. Sedreth had a certain amount of knowledge, given that apothecaries had been rare amongst the Children's ranks for tens of centuries. Many warriors amongst the traitor Legions had learnt the hard way that personal medical skill mattered, and the 79th had not failed to learn that lesson. He could see to his own injuries, and even had a decent understanding – enough to keep them healthy even when wounded or damaged – of how his various implants worked. Still, the necessary training to properly handle the precious genetic material remained rare.

He wondered what he should do. He had recharged the apothecary's kit, and the ancient geneseed was once again safely held in stasis, but he had insufficient knowledge to test its viability, and most definitely insufficient to check it for any taint. It might not be beyond the abilities of the warp powers to infect the genetic material of a fallen Primarch, if they were aware it existed, and the traitor legions, especially the Death Guard, would certainly want it if they ever found out about it.

He could think of only one person who might be willing to provide the knowledge he needed without simply demanding the destruction of their find, and Fabius was not a person he wanted to deal with. Nor was it just the likelihood that he would not hesitate to sell the information should he need anything from one of the legions. It was more that, for all they had last parted on reasonably neutral terms, he dared not entrust the welfare of his companions to the renegade apothecary in any way. He didn't know what it was about Janey that gave her her sensitivity to warp energies – she wasn't a psyker or the Blood Angels would definitely have picked up on it during their long time at Baal – but if Fabius had got wind of the ability he wouldn't hesitate to dissect her to find out the reason. Mercy and pity were entirely foreign concepts to the man these days.

And Fabius was no fool; he had contacts across the known galaxy. _Eyes of the Phoenix_ and its mysterious captain and crew would have come to his attention by now, if only because he coveted the ship for himself.

The comms sounded. Sara. "Morgan, we're approaching Isstvan V. High anchor in seven minutes."

"Acknowledged, captain. I shall be with you momentarily." His worries would have to wait. He turned and walked swiftly out and towards the bridge lift.

* * *

The bridge was all business, Sara in the pilot's chair, Kat at scan, Janey at weapons auxiliary. Astrid sat at the aux engines control station, commanding the manoeuvring thrusters which would position them precisely. Sedreth took his place at weapons tactical, Janey switching the main batteries and lances to him with the ease of long practise.

"Approaching geosynch. All engines to negative thrust on my mark."

"Acknowledged, captain. Shields and weapons online"

"Acknowledged. Standing by."

"Scans online. Ready to commence once we are in in position, captain."

"Affirmative all stations. Mark."

"Engines all back."

"Thrusters online. Orbital velocity three thousand metres per second. Two thousand; one thousand; five hundred. Two hundred metres per second. One hundred. Fifty. Ten. Geosynchronous orbit achieved."

"Scans online. I'm picking up ruins of fortifications. Hundreds of hectares of them."

Sedreth nodded in satisfaction. "That should be the fortifications used by Lupercal to lure the Iron Hands, Raven Guard and Salamanders."

"Any energy readings?"

"Negative, captain. But I am picking up thousands of pieces of wreckage – all sorts of smashed vehicles, destroyed armour, probably weapons as well – spread over about twenty thousand square kilometres. It could easily take a decade to search. And that's not even considering other areas of the planetary surface."

Sara nodded thoughtfully. "Fortunately, we are not looking to search it all. We know where we are going. Suit up. Then we take the shuttle down."

"All of us?"

"All of us. We've been in the system for more than a week and there's nothing here. Kat, you take a remote scan monitor, just in case. Janey, set the teleport to stand-by, and lock it to the suits. We can 'port up in an emergency if we have to."

"Okay, mummy." She ran the commands, her hands a blur on the console. "All armour beacons locked."

"Morgan, would you warm up the shuttle while the rest of us get our armour on?"

"Of course, Sara." He stood and headed for the hangar deck.

* * *

The hangar was much more crowded than normal, of course. They had retrieved several damaged vehicles; half a dozen drop-pods, four wrecked Rhino troop transports from which they might manage to salvage enough parts to make up two new vehicles, and several smashed-up 'Eagle-pattern' jetbikes most of which which had once belonged to the Death Guard and Emperor's Children, the main users of that pattern. He had been pleased to find those. Although the technology for their manufacture had long been lost by the Imperium, they remained a highly efficient and speedy method of traversing large distances. While not a techmarine, he had hopes of salvaging sufficient working parts to give them that option.

For now though his attention was focussed on their shuttle. He would have preferred a Thunderhawk, but it was highly unlikely that they would be able to retrieve one. Unlike common infantry transports like Rhinos or jetbikes, such complex and hardy vehicles – like the Land Raider battle transports – were far too expensive to simply leave as wreckage. Lupercal's legions would have retrieved any such that were remotely capable of repair; he had taken part in the retrieval of several of the Children's damaged craft himself. Nor was it likely that the annihilated loyalists' craft would have been left. Such would have been either taken for use, or destroyed. It was only Horus's orbital bombardment of the fighting zones on Istvaan III that had left salvageable wreckage there; all the Primarchs were well aware of the radioactive effects of orbital bombardments and had in any case been too busy culling the few remaining loyalists from amongst their astartes and naval crews to bother exploring for usable wrecks. Which was as well for him and his companions.

He buckled himself in at co-pilot and started running the pre-flight checks.

* * *

"Set us down here, Sara. This is the valley."

Sara nodded in response to Sedreth's sombre voice and the shuttle kicked up eons-old dust as it slowly lowered itself on its landing supports. As she went through the stand-by procedures, Sedreth unbuckled and walked to the hatch, opening it on manual. Not waiting for the ramp to extend, the marine jumped easily down to the rock surface they had selected. He was swiftly followed by Janey, likewise not waiting for the ramp, then a few seconds later Kat and Astrid walked down the metal gangway to the hard ground.

Sara left her own seat to join them. The rock still bore a few scars; even millennia of weathering insufficient to entirely erase the evidence of explosions and melta blasts. Around them, the devastation remained, an artificial ocean of shattered battle-plate, broken vehicles and scorch-marked rock. She felt herself shiver. She had seen battle, but nothing on this scale. Nothing even close. She glanced at a broken Mk III suit; shards of white glinted in reflected sunlight, astartes bone undisturbed for a hundred centuries.

The others did not appear comfortable either, Kat and Astrid picking their way carefully through the remnants of black-armoured Iron Hands and doing their best to avoid the many Emperor's Children dead. Not all the Children bore the purple and gold, she noticed. Clearly the Legion's corruption had already set in before this infamous atrocity. Here and there lay a green-armoured corpse, some a rich deep colour, others paler. The dark ones were Salamanders, killed by those they'd called brother. The pale ones all had the sigil of an open eye; the Sons of Horus. Traitors.

She found herself watching the dead much more carefully than might have been expected, tense against possible daemonic ambush.

Ahead of the three of them, Janey and Sedreth walked together up a steepening incline. They paused about halfway, waiting for them all to catch up.

Sara noticed that they were surrounded by Black Terminator armour, the ancient cataphractii-pattern. Corpses in purple battle-plate lay scattered amongst these remnants of a dead elite, both ordinary astartes and Terminators. She found her voice.

"A last stand, Morgan?"

"In part. These were the Morlocks, the Terminator elite of the Iron Hands. Kaeseron led his company and the Phoenix Guard into them, while the Primarchs met up on the ridge there. If it is anywhere, it will be there, where Ferrus Manus fell."

"It will be there," said Janey solemnly, confidently.

He turned slightly to look at her, then his helmet dipped in fractional acknowledgement, as close to a nod as the Indomitus-pattern could allow. "Let us hope so. It is a long way to have come not to find it."

"Did the Iron Hands retrieve his body?"

"I believe so. It was not found afterwards – and we looked, believe me. If the surviving Iron Hands could have taken it, they would have. The Morlocks fought to the last man, as would be expected, but they gave no ground after gaining back the summit shortly after their Primarch was killed. Fulgrim took his head and presented it to Horus, but the remainder of the corpse was never found."

"Fulgrim, or the thing that has him," said Janey, her voice hard.

"Yes." He started walking up the slope again. They all followed in silent formation, bolters at carry despite the world's status.

Sedreth paused again, then struck left, and up again, to a more open but slightly lower peak. Here, rocks were smashed asunder and great gouges had torn the dusty surface. Her scout training and instruction instantly kicked in, and she tried to read the signs of an ancient duel. There, a blow had gone wide; here, one of the combatants had dodged a monstrous hammer. Suddenly she felt a certain pressure, like yet very much unlike the presence of the two Keepers, against her psi-shield. She gritted her teeth against the titanic fury.

Kat collapsed with a soft moan, the Lupus seal glowing against her armour. Sedreth was outlined in white light, the pinion of Sanguinius a star in the dusk. Janey and Astrid, both of them sensitive to the warp in their different ways, were stock-still, as if spellbound.

Something. Familiarity. Yes. She was the captain. She had agreed to this, she had to.. she forced out the words. "Lord Manus, remember yourself. Your duty. Service,.. service to the Emperor's Will." Pressure forced her to her knees; she reached up and tore off the psi-shield, ignoring Sedreth's shout of denial. "Lord Manus. Remember." Then the pain took her.


	36. Chapter Thirty-four

**Chapter Thirty-four**

Something splashed on her face and she coughed, then winced in near-agony. It hurt. Everywhere. She ached all over, deep down in her bones. Another splash of liquid. Her eyelids felt stuck together, but she forced them open.

A face swam into focus. Janey, puffy-eyed and tearful and for the first time in years looking like an ordinary girl, like her little girl. She managed a smile, reached up with a still-gauntleted hand to touch her daughter's cheek.

"Hey."

Janey sniffed back more tears. There was a glow to her right and she started to turn her head; her daughter stopped her. "Don't. Astrid's looking out over the knoll. She has her Navigator eye open." Another sniff. "I thought,... I thought..."

She reached up and pulled her beloved child into an embrace, a hug that they'd both needed for about five years, felt soft skin against her cheeks and the warm salt of tears on her lips. "I'm here. I'm here. It's alright. My darling, mummy's not leaving you. Not ever."

They clung together wordlessly, each taking desperate and overdue reassurance from the other. Slowly the glow on their right faded and Astrid's voice came back to their mutual consciousness.

"He's gone. You should have told me."

She turned to look at the Navigator, puzzled. "Told you what?"

"You're both latents. Empaths, I think, not true psykers." A wan smile. "You can't perceive the warp, or call on the Emperor's wrath or strike down your enemies or anything like that. But you're both sensitive to powerful psychic emanations."

"We are?" She didn't need to pretend astonishment. "That explains... but why didn't Lord Mephiston say something? He must have known."

Sedreth's deep voice spoke from behind her. "Perhaps he was instructed otherwise. Sara, I must apologise. I was unaware that any such presence had remained here, or that it might affect you."

She struggled to sit up, grimacing against the pain. "Not your fault, Morgan. You couldn't have known." She managed a wry smile. "Although just once it would be nice not to feel the death of a Primarch. It was him, wasn't it?"

Astrid nodded, somehow serene. "Lord Manus? Yes. His essence, his rage, was bound here. It is gone now."

Kat was white. "Bound?"

"To the very rock, by the blade he made. Unable to return to his Father, unable to hear his sons' calls and prayers, unable to do aught but remember his pain and betrayal."

"I should be dead." Sedreth's voice. "I was here. I fought here. I should be dead."

The Navigator smiled, slowly, cold and calm. "You have a task. _We_ have a task. Time enough to die when we are done." She reached down and offered Janey a hand up, then helped Sara to stand. Her smile became more real, genuine amusement. "When I agreed to sign on as part of your crew, captain, I did not expect this. It just goes to show that one should always read one's contract."

Kat gave a helpless snort of laughter.

* * *

The group were quiet as they sat together round the dining table. Sara passed out full plates, steaming with Janey's latest culinary creation. She and Janey tended to do most of the catering, though occasionally one of the others would – if Janey would let them into the kitchen. Tonight they were having fish, a delicacy from one of the agri-worlds in the Damocles Gulf region of the Ultima Segmentum, baked with herbs and spices.

Taking her seat, she bowed her head for Kat to say Grace. It had become a small ritual, that a different person would offer thanks to the Emperor at each evening meal. Not a prayer per se, it was more an acknowledgement of the great debt all of mankind owed Him.

"By Your Grace, lord Emperor, we walk the Stars. By Your Sacrifice, we are sustained. In Your Name, we give thanks. Amen."

"Amen," went round the table, and she picked up her utensils. It was a remarkably delicate taste, seasoned with flavours that Janey didn't normally use.

"It's good, Janey. We should have it again sometime."

Janey smiled. "Thanks, mummy. We have enough for several experiments. I might try it in a chowder next time."

They were all trying to act very normally, but despite an excellent meal – Janey had produced a rather excellent combination of citrus and chocolate as dessert – the tension was still there. As they sat around the table with their usual warming cups – a delicate cinnamon rue tonight – it was Kat who asked the question.

"What happened today?"

Astrid opened her mouth, then seemed to think better of it and looked at her instead. Sara hesitated then spoke quietly. "I think that some part of the spirit of the Primarch Ferrus Manus was bound to the surface where he died. At first all I felt was rage and pain. Then, well, I took a very dangerous chance. I unshielded my mind; you know how Morgan has tried to teach us all how to keep hold of ourselves at all times? I let that go. Took off my psi-shield. I just tried to think of nothing except the Emperor and duty."

"It could have been disastrous, Sara. That could have been something much worse, maybe even a daemon, bound here to trap the unwary."

She nodded. "I know, Morgan. But I saw Kat fall to her knees, and I could tell that Janey and Astrid were unable to even move. You looked like you were being attacked; Sanguinius' Pinion was shining like a star. It was my responsibility. And I'd been through something similar before, I could sense a similarity to the last time. So what else could I do?"

"What do you remember?"

"It's hard for me to remember details, but, pain. A blur of purple and gemstones. Blood. Rage and betrayal and love all at the same time. I think I – or the memory that held me – was swinging a flaming sword. I was on a battlefield and I could hear the battle-cries of astartes all around me, the thunder of weapons and the scream of engines. But most of all I saw golden eyes filled with fury and pride and madness. Then it was, like I was ripping myself apart, filled by a cascade of pure almost sentient energy. And it was, uhm, irate at the insignia I wore and puzzled at the same time. Suddenly it stopped and I came to with Janey crying."

"It stopped suddenly?" Astrid was very intense.

She nodded. "Why?"

"Sedreth, you grasped the blade, did you not? Forced yourself against the powers attacking you to pull it from the ground?"

"Yes."

"That was the binding. The sword. Have you inspected it yet?"

He shook his head. "I wrapped it and placed it in the Hall."

Janey suddenly looked aghast. "Is he trapped in it?"

"I don't think so," answered the Navigator. "But I don't know enough to tell and I'm not warp-sensitive in that way. Only a Librarian or a Sanctioned Psyker would be able to tell for certain, I think."

Sara shook her head. "I could tell. I would recognise that presence."

Kat looked at her. "Maybe. Incidentally, what did you mean, last time? Have you been possessed before now?" Her expression was worried, as well it might have been.

Sara smiled briefly. "On Baal. I felt the presence of the Angel Sanguinius."

"Truly?"

She nodded. "The Blood Angels were certain."

Both Kat and Astrid seemed to relax from a tension neither had openly understood. Sedreth still looked grim.

"It is risky, Sara."

"I know. But someone has to. And you can put me down at need. If you were possessed by a vengeful Primarch, all of us together couldn't even slow you down. My physiology isn't so powerful that I would be invincible. And I won't wear armour; you all will."

Janey looked mutinous. "I won't hurt you, mummy. Anyway, I should do it. I'm smaller than you; any spirit would have less to work with."

Astrid answered before she could. "No, Janey. You are a much stronger latent than your mother. Any potential psychic powers a trapped spirit could unleash would be a hundred times worse from you. And I doubt any of us would fail to hesitate when facing you. Sara is a bit less lovable. No offence, captain."

She grinned wryly. "None taken. Everyone finished their drinks? Let's be about it then."

* * *

It was huge, now she saw it up close for the first time. Even Sedreth would need two hands to properly wield the fabled blade. Standing in front of the altar, she examined it closely.

The weapon had a swept hilt formed as a ferocious flaming bird – obviously a phoenix – with the head being one quillon, facing down the blade towards an enemy, the body forming the knuckle bow, the wings the second quillon and diagonal guard, and the talons the ricasso. The craftsmanship was incredible; it appeared the phoenix was ready to fly, flaming, from the great bronze and leather hilt and attack the nearest foe. The bird was formed from a bronze-coloured alloy and chased with what recent trading experience let her recognise as different alloys of gold and platinum and cobalt, each feather and lick of flame picked out in exquisite detail.

A masterly, incredible example of the sword-smith's art, the blade itself was double-edged and pale gold in colour, carefully crafted with a double fuller on each side, each inlaid at the forte a deep, anodised cobalt blue which gradually lightened to the pallor of the blade's natural alloy at the foible. The fullers commenced a handspan from the hilt and tapered to needle-sharp points some fifteen or so centimetres from the sword-point but kept constant depth all their length. The blade's edge held a faint pattern which she recognised as being similar to the machine-produced crystalline matrix of her own powersword. Except this had supposedly been made by hand and eye alone, which was beyond astounding; no mortal could match that sort of precision, surely?

Hesitantly, she glanced at the others, took a deep breath and reached for _Fireblade_. It came to her hand as if born there, as long as she was tall, but balanced enough that she could, she reckoned, use it two-handed herself. It was much lighter than she had expected, just a fraction heavier than her own blade. A concealed stud lay under her index finger; she resisted the temptation. Instead she raised the sword carefully, looking along its edge.

"Morgan?"

"Yes, Sara?"

"Is it just me, or is that a blood stain on the edge? Did you cut yourself on it?" She held the weapon out and indicated. All four of the others looked at it.

"It's certainly something," said Kat. "Not just a mark either."

Sedreth took off his helmet and leaned close, sniffing suspiciously. "It is definitely blood. But none of mine. I will not hazard a supposition as to whose blood."

"It can't still be viable, after all this time?" asked Astrid nervously.

A wintry smile from the big marine. "It may be. I can smell it."

"The medical servitor should able to remove and store it safely."

"Indeed."

"You don't feel anything handling the sword?" asked Janey anxiously.

"No. It's comfortable to wield, even at that size, but there's no psychic pressure or anything."

Janey looked relieved.

* * *

Four days later they left the Isstvan system. It would be centuries before anyone landed on the third planet again, to stare at the huge monument and its long lists of names, and wonder.


	37. Chapter Thirty-five

**Chapter Thirty-five**

Kat liked the little workshop. It was on deck four, an old armoury which had been empty for centuries. They'd installed several dozen machine-tools and technical servitors here and she liked the quiet focused activity. Even after nearly a year on board, she still wasn't used to the echoing corridors and the stark silence of the great vessel. It was comforting to have somewhere busy to go when she was not actually on duty. She was working on her bolter today, routine maintenance.

It felt strange to have such a weapon, or rather, felt strange for it to be _hers_. As if she had fallen into some heroic epic with legends and great deeds. She was just a farmer's daughter from Meyis, nobody special. It didn't make sense.

And yet it did. Most of the time. It felt right. The ship. The crew. Sedreth. He had called her bolter drill 'adequate' yesterday. She smiled at the memory. 'Adequate' from Sedreth was 'beyond excellent' from anyone else she had trained with, and both of them knew it. Of course, both Sara and Janey were better. A lot better if she was honest. But not, now, a lot fitter. As Sedreth had put it 'there are limits to how fit a normal human can make themselves without becoming fragile'. Both Sara and, to a lesser extent since she was still growing, Janey were close to that point now. She and Astrid had a fair way to make up, although she was definitely catching up.

Astrid wasn't really getting much fitter, though. Sedreth said that their Navigator would never be able to reach the same levels of physical strength and endurance that the other three women could; not down to any fault with effort, just genetics. On the other hand, none of them could come close to her incredible mental endurance, which bordered on Sedreth's transhuman abilities. And Astrid didn't have any genetic implants to make her that way; just hundreds of generations of breeding. She had told them that endurance was a trait her House was known for. It was one of the few times she had mentioned Navigator Houses, Janey's boundless curiosity notwithstanding. Still, Kat had to admit that she liked the Navigator. Even if the woman admitted to hating the regular combat drills.

She grinned inwardly and turned back to her weapon, carefully oiling and reassembling it. She had, with Sedreth's encouragement, carefully incised her name into the bolter, the last in a short list etched on the ancient weapon. The others, all four of them, were inlaid in gold as well as cut into the metal; one day her name would also read gold.

When she Fell and went to join the Emperor.

It was funny how acceptable that was; she had no qualms about death. Not any more. She had faced traitor marines and tyranids before this, and since joining _Phoenix_'s small complement had twice fought orks, and, once, another semi-sentient xenos species none of them knew the name of.

That action had been on a frontier world, recently colonised near the Eastern Fringes. The Imperium still had the world unnamed, the Administratum's Informational Database devoid of information. The colonists had called it 'Hope'. The native wildlife, some sort of reptile, had almost overrun the nascent settlement and all they had been able to do, despite their best efforts, had been to bring the survivors aboard and transport them to the next Imperial world.

Fortunately for the ragtag group, that world had turned out to be the agri-world Geosan IV which was only too happy to accept additions to its population who were prepared to carve out their own fortunes from its extensive forests. The colonists had been effusive in their thanks and the Imperial Governor more practical in offering a convenient discount for _Phoenix_'s resupply. She'd liked that. It felt good, saving people.

A soft chime interrupted her thoughts. Exercises in ten minutes. She wasn't armoured today, like every third day. Sedreth, hard taskmaster that he was, made it clear that all of them needed to be confident in their own abilities rather than using the powered battle-plate as a crutch to make up for weaknesses. She understood, even agreed in principle, but, Throne of Gold, it was hard. Especially when Janey seemed almost casual but still beat her easily.

She picked up her bolter and jogged off to change. Maybe today she might take the youngster down a peg or two.

* * *

Astrid chuckled wryly to herself as she stood under the heavy jets, the water driving heat into her tired muscles. Thank the Emperor Sedreth had agreed that she needed only the basics; she was sure she couldn't have coped with the sort of training he put Kat, Sara and Janey through. The training duel Kat and Janey had had the other day was well beyond her.

They were in the practice rooms now, at the firing range. Kat was being trained with the heavy bolter, for the third time this week. She wasn't sure why Sedreth had decided to have them all trained in multiple weapons; it was probably because he could use any and all weaponry equally well. Terrifyingly well if you got down to it. She had never actually seen the marine in real combat, but Kat had told her it was both inspiring and horrifying at the same time – inspiring, because you couldn't help but feel braver with an astartes at your side, and horrifying, because it was a reminder of why such warriors were needed in the first place.

She stepped out of the spray and into the dryer, luxuriating in the cessation of pressure against her flesh. She'd asked Sara about the shower system; it was unusual in her experience. Every other vessel she'd been on had more conventional overhead sprays and dryers were reserved for senior officers and VIPs. Sara had laughed and told her that they used the same facilities the ship's original astartes complement had used. Space marines' superhuman physiques produced a slightly different type of sweat to normal humans, that clung to the skin more, so they needed higher water pressures.

Sedreth had added that the adapted sweat could be deliberately stimulated by a trained astartes, coating the entire body to provide additional protection in hostile environments. It even gave some help against the freezing cold of space, so a space marine could survive his armour being cracked or holed for a short time, hopefully one sufficient to get a patch on it.

Janey had remarked that the Emperor had thought of everything. Sedreth had looked solemn and added 'everything except treachery'.

The memory brought her good humour back to earth. She had watched the ancient recording with Kat, and, like Kat, had wept. It had given her – given them both – a very different perspective. She'd found herself in the Hall a few times, walking between the remembrance columns, tracing names with her hand and wondering.

She shook herself and went through to dress, noting idly that she seemed to have gained a fair amount of firmness in the last few months. She had to admit that the regular exercise felt good. It had enhanced her concentration too. Sedreth's 'healthy body' saying might have a point or two.

She slipped on her bandana. The others didn't seem to be worried, but it was not polite to leave her Navigator Eye uncovered, especially around normal mortals, if only because a reaction to something like a sneeze could cause her to blink it and that would at best injure anyone unfortunate enough to be facing her at the time. And she was definitely stronger psychically than she'd been, frequent interaction with _Phoenix_'s powerful machine spirit helping her to train her abilities. Probably not strong enough to challenge someone like Edsel, but no longer easily discountable either.

She buckled her recently acquired blade to her forearm. Sedreth considered her to have enough competence – basics, he'd said – that she could wear the fractal-edged weapon. Under her formal Navigator House robe, it was unseen, and likely unlooked for; Navigators were not exactly famed for their combat abilities. Still, the astartes had reminded her that some xenos species were either known, or likely, to be immune to her Eye, so a holdout weapon should be carried in addition to the las-pistol she wore openly at her right hip. Of course the rest of the crew bore bolt pistols for their higher stopping power, but her lighter skeletal structure, a product of generations born and bred on a low-gravity world, meant she needed two hands to use one. The energy weapon was both lighter and more comfortable, not to mention that she was more accurate with it.

Walking along the corridor she paused at the door to the firing range observation balcony, then went in. Janey, unarmoured, was operating a recording camera; Sedreth was instructing Kat in his usual mellow tones.

The slender girl looked up and nodded a greeting.

"Sixty-eight percent," she said quietly. "She's getting better."

Astrid smiled slightly; it was a big improvement. "That's up by twelve percent on last week, isn't it?"

Not looking up from her recording equipment, Janey nodded again. "I think she's feeling more comfortable in locked stance. That makes a big difference. We made a tweak or two to her armour settings too. That's what they're discussing now."

"Dare I ask what Sedreth considers competent?"

A deep voice came from the firing range below their balcony. "On moving targets, ninety-eight percent at anything between ten and forty metres, ninety-five percent out to two hundred metres, and at least eighty-five out to four hundred. The weapon's accurate range without additional suspensors goes down drastically after that, and none of you have the enhanced eyesight, even with helmet autosenses, that would allow the retention of a high level of accuracy. Below ten metres, drop the damned thing and engage with a normal bolter, or bolt pistol and blade if you can; it's too clumsy a weapon unless you're a full astartes."

Kat's higher tone added, "Thanks for that, Astrid. Make me feel really pleased with myself, why don't you?"

She leaned over to look down at them. "You're still better than me. And twelve percent is a good improvement. Anyway, since you're all busy, I'm going up to the bridge." She gave them a quick smile, though whether it was returned or not she couldn't tell with the helmets on, and headed for the lift.

Behind her she heard the deep male voice say, "Ready weapon," then the metallic thunder started up again, audible even through the closed range doors. Her lips tugged up and she took the lift in better mood.

* * *

Sara was frowning when Astrid came onto the bridge, but looked up and smiled briefly. "Astrid. Just the person I was about to page."

"What's the problem, captain?" They were only refuelling; that would not normally require her attention in any way, even if they had been caught by a gravity well.

She indicated her console head-up display, which held a system hologram. "See here. That's an anomalous reading. We're not in warp, but I'm picking up what appears to be warp energies from somewhere in this system. They shouldn't be there, and the anomaly's not any sort of pre-transition spike I've ever seen."

Astrid looked at the indicated section. "I agree. I've never seen a reading like it. Captain, you will want to close your eyes, please."

Sara nodded and did so, also turning her back on the Navigator. A few deep breaths, and she opened her Eye, stretching out her senses towards the distant energy source. After a few seconds she closed and covered the Eye again. "Captain, I will have to use the interface. I'll be online in about five minutes." She didn't suggest the captain cut short the combat practice; that was not her decision, and Sara Tarken's judgement was something she had come to have a lot of confidence in.

"Do that. The others are still at drills?"

"Yes, deck eight firing range. Only Kat and Sedreth are armoured though."

"Janey was working blades and gymnastics today. I'll page her and suggest she come up."

"Yes, captain." She turned and walked quickly to the lift and the long corridor that led to her Chair.

"Janey, can you come up to the bridge, please? We have an anomaly in system and I want tacscan online. Sedreth, you and Kat can continue your exercise; it's not an alarm."

"Affirmative, Sara. We shall be finished in another half hour."

"On my way, mummy. Mr Morgan, I'm leaving the recorder on; it's auto-focussed on Kat."

"That is fine, Janey."

* * *

Astrid pulled down the interface and lowered herself into the Chair. A flick of the control sealed the door; a necessity since no Navigator would tempt a physical interruption. Anyone needing to contact her could now only go via the interface.

"_Navigator Lyognet. Interface online. Greetings._" The huge presence was always a reassurance, solid and confident in its own power.

"_Interface online. Affirmed. I am grateful for your assistance and request direct access to insystem sensors._"

"_Am I insufficient in some way, Navigator?_"

"_Not at all. The captain has detected an unusual anomaly which appears to have a similar profile to the energies of the immaterium, but not of warp translation._"

A brief pause; she could sense the ship's machine spirit accessing the scans itself. She still wasn't entirely sure any ship should be able to do that so easily. The machine spirit seemed to sense her trepidation and be amused by it. "_Affirmed. Accessing central data stores for possible matches. Scans are online to your interface, Navigator._"

"_Thankyou. Scans to interface. Tactical scans online to interface. Accessing on my mark._" She took a steadying breath, sank into full navigation Trance and felt her Eye open. The system unfolded before her, overlaid with the scan image. There. She floated silently towards the tiny flicker. Hmm, it was growing. A wider instance opened before her; reacting to her scrutiny? Not a warp transition, something else.

"_Navigator. Alert. Energy match found. The anomaly is a webgate. Such are used by both Eldar and Dark Eldar. It is likely to be hostile._"

"_Understood._"

She spoke, or more accurately subvocalised for audible translation, into her vox. "Captain, the anomaly appears to an Eldar, or Dark Eldar, webgate. It will need monitoring."

The reply was almost immediate, though the second or so delay in translation from audio to interface as always felt like forever when she was in Trance. "Acknowledged, Astrid. Can you remain online? Your observations are less likely to be noticed than an active scan."

"Affirmative, captain. I shall continue to monitor." She cut the vox. "_The gate must be monitored. I shall remain synchronised to you to do so._"

"_Affirmative. My fuel tanks are 83.713 percent full. Refuelling complete in four hundred and thirteen seconds. Arm retraction will take a further seven hundred and forty-three seconds._"

Not quite seven minutes. Allowing for fuelling arm retraction, about fifteen minutes before they could reasonably manoeuvre, and near twenty to guarantee avoidance of possible damage to the refuelling arm. "_Acknowledged. Query: according to data records how much time is needed for webgate transition?_"

"_Unknown. Eldar encounters have typically been with craft-ships in realspace. Dark Eldar raiders have not been observed entering a system using a webgate. Outward transition varies according to stored records; observed time range for opening of a webgate is from seventy point zero six seconds to four hundred and twenty-five point three nine seconds. Outward translation appears to be virtually instantaneous, although I have not pursued through a webgate._"

"_Query: did the time range correlate with the size of the Eldar vessel?_"

"_Negative. The fastest opening recorded was by a small Eldarin warship of frigate-class, but the second fastest was by the craftworld known as Biel-tan, believed to mass in excess of Luna_. _The longest period observed was a single cruiser-class vessel. Standard statistical tests indicate no reasonable correlation to size of vessel, number of vessels, mass of vessel, or energy output. My data is incomplete, but Imperial observers noted during the ninety-second and one hundred and fortieth expeditions of the Great Unification Crusade that webgates appeared to be independent of status of the using vessel. Recorded theories suggest that each webgate is a pathway to an extant network used by the Eldar to travel interstellar space without using the warp. The status of the proposed network, how it might be maintained, and when or how it was created are unknown._"

Interesting. "_Query: do records hold any theory of webgate response to psychic energy?_"

"_Working. Affirmative. Observations by the Imperial Heralds Legion in the second century of the thirtieth millennium found that a webgate was apparently directed as a weapon against one of their capital ships. The Imperial vessel was ripped in two when the webgate manifested itself directly through it. The Emperor was present in person during this encounter and utilised his own psychic energies to close the webgate allowing the Eldar ships to be destroyed. The information on this encounter was passed to all Legions, together with a warning. There are no other records of this event repeating itself during the Crusade and I have not observed such since. Extrapolation suggests that such abilities might be beyond the majority of Eldar vessels, or it would be observed more frequently as no vessel – regardless of magnitude – could defend against it._"

That made sense. But it indicated that a webgate might be sensitive to an active scan by her. Best to be cautious and monitor the thing as passively as possible.

"_Maintain passive scan for the moment; I shall remain under interface._"

"_Affirmed. Tactical scan bridge station confirms passive observance._"

Astrid lay back in the Chair. The lights dimmed further, leaving her in semi-darkness.

* * *

Janey leaned back in her chair and stretched, flexing her hands rather like a cat extending its claws. She had been watching the scans for more than an hour now, but the webgate remained stubbornly inactive beyond the first energy spike that had drawn her mother's attention in the first place. One eye on the display, she worked cramped muscles in small groups as Sedreth had taught her, starting at her neck.

As she was working her right upper leg a flicker of new energy glinted orange on the display. "Mummy, we have another energy output." She reached for the fine controls, swinging her legs back together from the obtuse angle she'd been holding as she did so. "Definitely more energy. Rising fast. Should I go to standard scans?"

"Not yet. Morgan, Kat, what is your status?"

The deep voice came back instantly. "We are warming down, Sara. I was about to send Kat to get cleaned up before her watch."

"Don't worry about that; stay in armour. Can you both come up please? That webgate is starting to give out energy. I think it might be about to open."

"Acknowledged. On our way. Can you bring our stations to active, please?"

Janey simply nodded at her mother, her hands playing a familiar symphony on the consoles. Stations seven and three glowed with energy, Kat's HUD coming to ready, and Sedreth's three holoscreens bringing up system vectors and possible targeting arcs.

"Shields online. Lances to standby. Main batteries to standby."

Far below them, trickles of energy ran through the automated machinery; subroutines ran weapons checks and loaded ordinance. The great plasma reactors raised their output to cope with the increased demand as the shield generators and main lances sucked power.

"Captain," Astrid, from her Navigator Throne, "I have activity. Faint, but a definite psychic trace of warp transit. Something is about to exit that webgate."

"Affirmative, Navigator. We are going to battle conditions."

"Battle conditions. Affirmative, captain," came the immediate reply.

* * *

"_Battle. It is good._"

"_You may be damaged,_" she replied.

"_An irrelevance. War is my purpose. The protection of humanity in the Emperor's name._" The great voice sounded almost smug in her mind. "_No xenos menace will stand before me and live._"

"_In the Emperor's name._" She engaged her combat harness and lent herself fully to the ship.

"Confirmed. Escort-class vessel, unknown type. Markings are not in the database. Second ship exiting. Third ship. All three are of similar design, approximately 70% of the mass of a _Cobra_-class destroyer."

"Three vessels confirmed, Janey. Main lances online and standing by. Main batteries online and standing by. All weapons hot. Void shields to max."

"Anything else on system plot, Kat?"

"No, captain. The webgate appears to be closing behind the ships."

Sara thought for a moment. "Alright. Janey, open a channel. Let's see who they are before we pick a fight. Keep us cloaked though; no sense in letting them know where precisely we are."

"Channel to your one, mummy."

"This is Imperial trader _Eyes of the Phoenix_ for the three ships which have entered this system. You are in territory of the Imperium of Man. Please identify yourselves."

The vid stayed blank for several moments; on the tactical displays the three ships had turned and were headed towards them, still four AUs distant, but closing at a reasonable 0.13_c_.

"Captain, I'm reading an increase in energy on the dorsal structures. Could be lances of some type."

"It looks like they can see through the cloak, or at least managed to triangulate on our signal. Let's try again." She felt the familiar adrenaline increase. Here they went again. "This is Imperial trader _Eyes of the Phoenix_ for the three ships which have entered this system. You are in territory of the Imperium of Man. Please identify yourselves."

This time there was a reply, audio only. It didn't sound friendly. The three vessels started to accelerate towards them.

"Anyone recognise that?"

Sedreth nodded without turning. "It sounds like the language of the Eldar. Something about a kabal, which I truly hope I am mistaken about."

"Why?"

"Because it would mean they are Dark Eldar, out for prisoners to enslave for torture and eventual death."

"That doesn't sound good. Time to lance range?"

"Two minutes forty. I expect they will attempt to split our fire."

"Makes sense. I would too. Everyone strapped in? This could get fairly interesting."

A chorus of cut-off laughs. "Affirmative, captain."

She gave a death's head grin. "Let's surprise them, shall we?" she said, and shoved the engines to full.

* * *

On the bridge of his raid-ship _Ed-lokirin_, Dracon Syamvi Tind licked his lips in anticipation. A fat human trade-ship. How very convenient. It seemed decently equipped too, with a primitive cloaking device which prevented a proper lock. He allowed himself to feel mild amusement. His three ships would have no difficulty in ripping open its defences for his warriors to board.

"Attack pattern _tansar_. Prepare to board once their shields are down."

Acknowledgements came back swiftly; he was not, even amongst the Trueborn of Commorragh, known for suffering fools gladly.

"Execute."

His three ships split from each other like the petals of a razor-flower. The human vessel seemed to suddenly leap forward, faster than any bloated trader should have been able. Disrupted by the sudden acceleration the enemy's cloak faltered and fell, revealing,... "That's not a blasted trader. Attack pattern _veldin_. Move, curse you."

Even as his other ships responded the massive human vessel opened fire. Tind didn't even have time to curse as the massive lance strike smashed through his command's fragile shields and annihilated its superstructure. The terror took him as his bridge dissolved in a blaze of energy. _She who thirsts._

* * *

"Direct hit with main lances. Enemy ship severely damaged."

"That's odd. They don't appear to have much shielding," said Kat. "I thought Eldar technology was usually more advanced than ours?"

"Dark Eldar tend to rely on speed and manoeuvre rather than armour. They are fast and well-armed but if you can hit them solidly you can do serious damage."

"Incoming message," said Janey.

It was clearly via an artificial translator. "Clever mon-keigh. You will be worthy of great suffering." The message cut out abruptly.

"They're manoeuvring to avoid our fire arcs," said Sedreth calmly as incoming energies burst and sparkled against the void shields.

"The damaged one isn't. Give it a full broadside, Morgan. It might still be dangerous." She brought her ship about to let the batteries bear. The shields took more impacts from the speedy little ships, but held without a flicker.

"Target locked. Fire."

"Direct hits. She's breaking up."

An enormous flare of energy on the displays.

"Target destroyed."

* * *

On her raider _Lodar-iainin,_ Dracon Estlith Xolisd cursed quietly. She had not liked Tind, but he had been competent. The Kabal could not afford to lose a second ship, not on a minor raid like this. Worse, their weapons were barely making a dent in the thrice-damned Imperial's powerful void shields. All the mon-keigh needed was a lucky shot and a second ship would be destroyed just as Tind's had been.

"Get me Hekatrix Alein."

The wych appeared on her screen. Estlith didn't waste time with pleasantries. "Our weapons aren't even denting that thing's shields. And their gunners are actually competent. Sooner or later they'll get lucky."

"I concur. We withdraw?"

"Yes. Tind's foolishness has us in a fight we cannot win. Today. But there will be other days."

"Agreed. I shall take great pleasure in the suffering of this 'Tarken'. But until that day, we have other prey to hunt."

Estlith raised a finger in acknowledgement. The link cut off. "Make for system zenith, max. I have no intention of joining that fool Tind."

A hiss from her left; she rolled instinctively aside. The knife-strike barely grazed her shoulder armour. Gtiers. Ambitious prick.

She came to her feet, blade in hand. "Continue on course," she said in a hiss of cold fury, keeping her eyes on her treacherous lieutenant. "This is not a place to sit back and ignore your jobs. Unless you want us blown to atoms?"

Gtiers snarled. "You run from the mon-keigh. You are weak. They are big but they are clumsy. We must attack."

A single bolt of energy slammed into his chest, leaving only a pair of legs and a partially burnt face, still looking astonished. Trinol lowered her fusion pistol. "He wasn't fit to command anyway. Even if he'd won a formal challenge I would have killed him."

Estlith flicked a finger in agreement. "Where is the mon-keigh vessel?"

"It is not attempting pursuit, Drakon."

"Good. Open a portal and get us out of here. Then get me contact with the Kabal. They need to know that there is a mon-keigh cruiser in this region posing as a trade vessel. This is a new tactic for the mon-keigh and one that could cause problems in future."

* * *

"They're opening a gate. Both ships are leaving the system." Kat's voice was calm and collected.

"Very well. Navigator, how long before we can set course for the Lithrax system? We're almost overdue with that molybdenum and cobalt shipment."

"I can be ready in an hour at the most, captain. Although I would prefer to have a proper meal before we leave, if possible."

"Make it two hours. A decent meal will suit all of us, I think."

* * *

The skirmish in the Sula Abet system went unrecorded in Imperial archives, and all that was left to show it had ever happened was a slowly expanding globe of debris which was soon drawn into the nearby gravitational pull of one the system's five gas giants. But the Dark Eldar do not forget an enemy, and _Eyes of the Phoenix_ was duly noted as a vessel to be dealt with by the endlessly warring kabals of Commorragh.

* * *

a/n: Apologies for the slowing of updates on this. I'm having difficulties with thesis corrections, and chapter 38 of this story is being a pain as well. Many thanks for sticking with it.


End file.
